Star Fox, Chaos Effect
by Vexed
Summary: This story plays off a few of the endings from Star Fox Command. Follows Krystal's/Star Wolf's betrayal of Fox as well as a mixture of a few others. Starts with Fox receiving a business proposition on Fichina, then sort of spirals wildly out of control from there. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Star Fox

Chaos Effect

Tree years after the Anglar Blitz…

Fichina

Fox let out a grunt as he walked out of the bar and into the morning sunlight, holding up a hand while he waited for his eyes to adjust. It had been dark when he had gone in, but it was sun-up now, and there he stood, thirsty and regrettably sober. He'd spent nearly the entire time discussing business with his newest client, and the stingy bastard hadn't so much as offered him a drink…but then, work had been scarce these last few months. What money he actually made usually went straight to maintenance, so he couldn't go spending too much on himself if he wanted to eat this month.

With a resigned sigh, he spit out the toothpick he'd been chewing on, thrust his hands into his empty pockets, and headed toward the nearby star port where his arwing was docked.

The job was pretty cut and dry. Pick up the cargo in orbit, deliver it to the client's associate on Katina. It was nothing fancy, and the pay wasn't what he had been hoping for, but as things were he couldn't afford to be picky.

The streets were busy, people coming and going all around him. Located about half way between Corneria and Venom, Fichina had developed into something of a trade hub in the shadow of Venom's explosive growth over the last few years. Whether you were buying, selling, or just trying to find work, you'd probably end up here sooner or later. Fox found himself here a bit too often.

When he arrived at the port he slid his ID at the gate and headed for his arwing. The sooner he was starborne, the better. Not all of his visits to this place were friendly, and he knew of more than a few people who would just love to get their hands on him while he was in the area.

"Fox! My friend!" a disgustingly familiar voice called, "were you really going to leave before seeing Vicini?

Fox's ears wilted and his shoulders slumped. "I was just thinking of you…" he said to the portly feline as he approached from his right, all smiles, arms spread in greeting. He wore loose, concealing robes that draped comfortably over his large frame.

"Why so glum? Does seeing Vicini truly cause you such grief?"

"I don't have your money," Fox said bluntly.

Vicini's smile didn't falter. "I thought you might say that, my friend, so I arranged for one of my friends in high places to put a lock on your fighter's hanger."

Fox gritted his teeth. Subtly, he loosened his blaster in its holster. He knew coming here would be risky.

"Now, now, let us be polite, my friend. There is no longer a hurry for you to leave, yes? I was hoping we could talk, you and I."

Fox sneered. "I hear you're still short handed after our last little talk. Sure you can spare anymore men on one of our conversations?"

Vicini's eye twitched ever so slightly. "Water under the bridge, my friend. And yes, I am regrettably without a sufficiently skilled pilot after that unfortunate little fiasco, which is exactly why I am here. You see, I have a business proposition for you!"

"I'd rather not get any more involved with you than I already am. Besides, I've already got a job, and dropping contracts is bad for business."

Vicini laughed. "Doing what? Running cargo? You're better than that! And, more importantly, you will never make enough money to pay back what you owe me by performing such…menial tasks.

If, however, you were to consider doing me this one small favor, I would be more than willing to dismiss your considerable debt, as well as pay you, say, fifty-thousand?"

Fox's ears perked up at the mention of his proposition. "Fifty thousand on top of what I owe you?"

Vicini's smile became less cheerful, gaining a more smug appearance. "Got your attention? Good. Come now, let us go somewhere more private. You look as though you could use a drink."

It was the best thing Fox had heard all day. He let his hand drop from his blaster, back to his side. He didn't like the thought of working for Vicini. He was as crooked as they came, and the prospect of getting honest work from him was laughable, but, the way things were looking, Fox didn't have a choice but to hear him out. He wasn't going anywhere with his fighter locked up, and he could really use the money.

. . .

Fichina fell away beneath him as Fox's arwing finally left the hanger. He could feel the pull of gravity fade as he pulled away, even through the G-diffusers, and though he'd only been planet side for a few hours, it felt good to be adrift again. No weight, now worries, just endless, star filled space.

Fox switched on the com and hailed the Great Fox. "Rob, I'm starborne, what's your location?"

"Fox, repairing the ship's beacon would allow you to track the ship yourself…" Rob's toneless mechanical voice came back.

"Repairs cost money, Rob. Right now I'm just grateful we're still adrift," he answered.

Rob gave what Fox took for a sigh before sending the ship's coordinates. It wasn't far, and he was docked shortly after spotting the Great Fox in the distance.

"Did you find work?" Rob asked as Fox walked onto the bridge.

"It found me," he answered, slumping into a seat, "Get us gate clearance"

"Destination?"

"Titania" he answered in a low tone. Who would have thought he'd be doing something like this? A few years back, he would never have accepted this kind of job. Hell, he'd have probably spit in Vicini's bloated face just for offering it to him.

_It might interest you to know, my information suggests that a member of the legendary Star Wolf squadron has been contracted to escort this convoy. It would seem that they are expecting trouble, and could think of no one else better suited to assuring a safe delivery_. Vicini's words echoed in Fox's head. His hands tightened into fists. He would like to believe that he hadn't taken the job out of spite, that he'd just needed the money and that was all, but he wasn't in the habit of lying to himself. It was only after Vicini mentioned Wolf that he'd accepted the contract.

Regardless, once at Titania he was to rendezvous with Vicini's 'associates' in orbit below the planet's great ring. The details of the operation would be discussed, and they were to lay in wait.

"No worries…" he muttered.

"What was that?" Rob asked, turning away from the navigation consol.

"Nothing. Are we cleared yet?"

"I've charted our rout, and requested clearance. We are waiting for confirmation, but there is an expected wait of one hour due to the gate's heavy traffic and-"

"Great Fox, you are clear for departure to Titania. Please approach the gate via the following vector. Thank you," the curt voice of the star traffic control system cut in. Rob stood wordlessly for a moment before turning back to the navigations.

Fox smirked. It seemed his employer didn't want to any delays. Bribing gate authorities wouldn't have been cheep, and he couldn't help but wonder what it was that this convoy could be carrying to make it worth that kind of…extravagance. It was probably best if he didn't know.

He leaned back in his seat and propped his head to the side with a lose fist as the Great Fox neared the large orbital gate. He really wasn't looking forward to what waited on the other side.


	2. Chapter 2

Falco

Falco drummed his fingers on the rail as he leaned against it and stared out the view port at the federation ships docked at the station. He was already bored out of his mind, and it would be hours before the convoy was ready to leave. This was exactly why he preferred to make a late entrance. The one time he shows up on time, they have him doing nothing but sitting and waiting.

If Peppy hadn't personally asked him to do this, he didn't care how much money they were throwing around, there was no way he would be here right now. Apparently what the convoy was transporting was "of critical importance" and the old hare wanted someone he trusted to make sure it got where it was going.

Falco smiled to himself. The Cornerian Defense Force had originally hired none other than Leon Powalski as an escort. Peppy hadn't liked the idea, and had gotten them to give Falco the contract instead, which meant that by taking it, he had put Star Wolf out of the job. This, of course, made the boredom almost tolerable.

What bothered him was that Peppy had come to him instead of Fox. Between the two of them, Fox had always been the more reliable one, so Peppy would have gone to him first, but the reality of it was, nobody knew where Fox was these days. If you knew where to listen, you could hear rumors of him turning up on one backwater planet or another, but who knows how much was true and how much was just someone blowing smoke. Mostly, people just didn't care anymore. Star Fox was disbanded, old news to the vultures in the media after Star Wolf's big victory against the Anglars. The years had gone by, and it was like they had all just drifted out of everyone's minds.

He still kept in touch with Slippy. He'd drop by whenever he was in the area, but that wasn't often, and he always got the feeling the wife didn't like having him around. Slippy was a family man now, all settled down with a wife and kids, but every time Falco came around all he'd talk about were the 'good old days' with the team. He'd get pretty riled up, and before long he'd get to talking about "giving it another go." Amanda would just scold him, and that would be the end of that, but she seemed to blame Falco for him getting that way. She'd never admit it, but it was true.

The sound of footsteps made him turn.

"Why so glum?" Katt asked with her usual toying grin, "We bag top class gig, easy escort mission, and we're getting paid a king's ransom to do it!" she laughed, "It's had me smiling since we got hired!"

"You're always smiling," he answered, "and I'm just sick of waiting around, doing nothing."

"Well then, we'll just have to find something fun to do while we wait!" she said, grabbing Falco by the arm and pulling him away from the rail, "I hear this station has a great enlisted club!"

Falco sneered just a little. He didn't like being lead like a dog, but he knew better than to fight back at this point. She'd let go once she was sure he was following her. "Last I checked, you had to be in the military if you wanted into one of those."

She stopped, letting go of his arm, and turned to shoot him a mischievous smile. "You just leave that to me!" she said. She then spun on her heel, and started off again.

Falco shrugged and followed. Whatever she had in mind had to be better than staring out a window for the next couple hours.

They were there before he knew it, and they got in easy enough. Katt seemed to know the bouncer, which was strange since they hadn't been on the station for more than a few hours. She always was a…people person. It made him uncomfortable to see her in action, but he did his best not to let it show.

The place was big, but, for the most part, dead. There were a good many people, but not a crowd, and most of them were either sitting, or gathered in small groups, talking. The smoky haze, loud music, and flashy lights you'd usually associate with this kind of place were nowhere to be found, so the 'club' felt less like a party and more like a office social. Katt seemed more than a little disappointed, but lightened up a bit when she saw the stage. Some poor fool was trying to sing, and failing miserably, and, knowing what she was probably thinking, Falco made for the bar. There were a few others there, but they didn't give him a second glance, probably wanting to keep to themselves. Suited him just fine.

The bartender noticed him sit, and headed over. "Haven't seen you around here," he said, "Not exactly uncommon, this being a military station n' all, but you don't have the look of the fleet about you. So, what can I get you?"

"Gris," Falco answered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Katt talking to someone near the stage.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. "Grisca? I haven't had anyone ask for that since I worked the bars back at-"

"I know where it's popular," Falco cut in, not liking where the conversation was going, "Now, do you have any or not?"

The man eyed him up and down before nodding, and filled a mug from a small metal keg that was crammed in the back behind the bar before setting it down in front of him. "So," he asked, idly, "what would bring a member to a place like this?"

Falco took the drink and downed a few swallows before answering. "I'm not a member, haven't been for a long time."

Thankfully, the man had other customers to deal with, and that was the end of that conversation. He wasn't particularly proud of his past, and that man seemed a bit too familiar for his taste. The gris was as sour as ever, and it burned all the way down. It was no surprise that the stuff wasn't widely loved. It was an acquired taste, and most people were never in the position to acquire it.

He was just about finished when someone sat down next to him. "Excuse me, but are you Falco Lombardi? THE Falco Lombardi?"

"What of it?" Falco returned, eyeing the newcomer. He was young, Cornerian, and looked to be an officer.

"I knew it! My friends, see, they didn't believe me, but-"

"You're an officer, right?"

"Well, yes. Lieutenant Charlie Bircham, CFF," he said, coming to attention as he did, then relaxing when he finished, "friends call me Chuck."

Falco finished the last swallow of his drink, placed the money on the bar, and stood up. Katt had just started singing, and it happened to be one of his favorite songs. "Well Chuck, last I checked, this was an enlisted club, and I'd hate to get you in trouble, so I'll be seeing you."

He left the kid there and made for a seat closer to the stage. If Katt thought he wasn't listening to her sing, she'd give him hell for it later.


	3. Chapter 3

Titania

Fox jumped down from the cockpit onto the rusty metal floor of the derelict station. One look at his surroundings told him that this place hadn't seen use in at least a decade, but there was air. It was stale, and a bit thin for his taste, but breathable. The lights above occasionally flickered uselessly. What light there was came from a few lines of portable light fixtures. There was probably a generator somewhere in the station they were drawing their power from.

From the look of it, the station had been constructed by the old mining coalitions to pick Titania's great ring clean of all its choice minerals. The place was likely abandoned once the ring dried up. Its location on the shadowed side of the ring, as well as its low profile, made it the ideal staging area from which to coordinate an attack. Fox was impressed, whoever was in charge of this operation seemed to know what he was doing.

His footsteps echoed as he made his way to the hatch on the far side of the hanger. He was nearly there when it slid open and several armed men hurried through. The first two had rifles. Fox was familiar with the model, high power anti personnel. The other three all had pistols, still holstered. One was carrying a few grenades on a belt around his waist.

"You must be Fox," the one with the grenades spoke up. He signaled for the riflemen to lower their weapons, and made an inviting gesture, "Welcome to our little piece of paradise."

He was tall, an ape. He wore a faded uniform suggesting he used to fly for Venom's forces before the post-Anglar reformation.

"You Vicini's men?" Fox asked

"Don't insult us," he spat back, "we're hired guns, same as you. Though, I gotta admit, it's a bit of a surprise to have the _illustrious_ Fox McCloud partake in our…dealings."

Fox tensed. "You're a bit of a surprise yourself," he sneered.

"Hm?"

"I didn't think I left any of Andross's men alive. Seems like every time I think I got the last one, more pop out of the wood work."

The man's face soured. "War's done and gone. We lost, thanks to you, but a good many of us managed to carve out a living for ourselves after. Some tried to follow that fool Oikonny, but the smart ones knew that the 'Empire' died with Andross. Now, pleasantries aside, we've only got a few hours before the convoy is due to pass this way, and you still need to know the specifics. Name's Warren, by the way."

He didn't give names for his companions, and Fox didn't care to know them. Warren was apparently the leader, so he was the only one that mattered.

"We'll start with what you know," he continued, "A small, low profile convoy is en rout between the Cornerian Defence Force security station in orbit above Macbeth and the research facility here on Titania. It's supposed to be accompanied by a small escort to avoid attention, and will be traveling by warp drives to avoid the scrutiny of gate travel. This provides us with the unique opportunity of intercepting it before it reaches its intended destination."

"Sounds like the CDF wanted to keep this quiet, so I doubt the info came cheap. What exactly are they carrying?"

"We weren't told what the cargo is, only that our target is one of the three identical transports that the convoy consists of."

Fox wasn't satisfied, but he doubted Warren knew any more than he did. "Fine, so the transports are identical and we're only stealing one, which means the other two are decoys, right?"

"You pick up quick. We identify our target by tracking a unique signal emitted by its cargo. Seems simple, but its not. The CDF knows about the signal and they've rigged the decoys to send out similar signals to confuse anyone nearby, meaning we have to know what we're looking for. On top of that, they've done their best to mask the signal entirely, making it detectable only from a range of fifteen meters."

"I assume we have a copy of the authentic signal," Fox stated. Without a copy, discerning between the decoys and the target would be impossible.

"Right again. After we deal with the escort, we gotta ID our target. To do that we send in three of our ships to scan the transports-"

"Two," Fox interjected.

Warren gave an agitated grunt. "We gotta send in three. In order to test the signal, each ship's gotta focus on their assigned transport."

"Wrong. We only need to check two transports. If neither of them turns out to be the target, then the third is it by default. This way we free up one of our ships to help deal with the escorts."

The man didn't seem to like being criticized. "I told you we deal with the escorts first! That way we can check all three in our own sweet time, leaves less room for error!"

"There are three problems with your plan," Fox calmly answered, "First, you've underestimated their escort. One of them is a member of Star Wolf. I've flown against Wolf and his men before, and they're not to be taken lightly, especially if it's O'Donnell."

Warren balked, and his men gave a mixture of angry responses.

When they'd calmed down, Fox continued "Next is your timeframe. We can't afford to 'take our sweet time' with this. It has to be done fast, hit and run. The research station down on the surface is military, high security, meaning it has at least two interceptors at its disposal."

"What's a research facility need interceptors for?" on of Warren's men spoke up.

"Standard CDF procedure at any high security location is to provide a minimum of two interceptors, as well as a high speed personnel carrier for emergency evacuation. The interceptors cover the carrier's retreat, as well as provide light regional defense. The station is near the planet's northern pole, which gives us approximately two minutes after the convoy sends its distress signal before they're on us. Ten minutes after that and we'll have a CDF cruiser bearing down on us from the gate.

We don't have time to waste on completely eradicating the convoy's escort fighters, so we'll have to send in TWO of our own to scan TWO of the transports while the rest hold off the fighters. Once our target is identified, we send in the assault team – I'm guessing that would be your riflemen there – cover their retreat, and get clear before their reinforcements arrive."

"Sounds like he knows what he's talking about, Warren," one of the riflemen added after a brief silence.

"Whatever," Warren seethed, "you all heard him, right? Nothing needs repeating?"

All nods and grunts. Fox was a little repulsed by what he was doing, but at the same time, he was getting excited. He could pull this off, he knew he could, and if one of Wolf's men got hurt in the process, mores the better.

"Good, now come on _admiral_, I'll show you to your ship."

"My ship?" Fox asked, confused, "I can find my ship just fine."

"You're not flying you're arwing. You don't see those too much outside of military, and it would draw undue attention if Fox McCloud was linked to an attack on CDF forces, so instead of that rig, you'll be flying our colors."

"I can understand that," Fox said, "but what about my arwing?"

"We're gonna cut the power on this station once we leave for the attack, so it'll go back to being another undetectable piece of slag in the ring. After the operation's complete, you take our fighter back to your big ship, warp somewhere under the radar, and lay low for a while. Once the heat dies down, you can come and get your arwing."

"Fine," he reluctantly agreed, "but if it's not here when I come for it, there's going to be one more dead ape drifting in my wake."


	4. Chapter 4

Falco

Falco's Sky Claw shuddered violently as alarms blared from its instruments

"Sir! We're being pulled from warp!" One of the pilots shouted.

"I noticed!" He shouted back, "keep calm and stay in formation, you hear me?"

"Y-yes sir."

Stars appeared in streaks and slowed until they were back in normal space. Several hits impacted with Falco's shields before he could evade.

"Katt! What the hell's going on here?!" Falco barked, banking hard and heading for one of the attackers. She was positioned on the other side of the convoy with one of the Cornarian pilots.

"We're under attack by five ships, four dog-fighters and one assault type. Looks like we're gonna have to earn our pay after all!"

"Damn! Who the hell are they?!"

"No ID signatures, pirates most like."

A bright flash caught his eye as one of the CDF fighters exploded. "Shit…Alright! We gotta keep 'em off the transports until backup arrives!"

"I read you," Katt said, sounding amused, "Well, this guy's ballsy! He's headed for my unit without so much as a wingma-!"

Two fighters went down, one right after the other. One of the pirate ships charged past the wreckage, Katt and the remaining escort fighter from her unit hot in pursuit.

"Little prick!" she yelled, "get back here!"

Falco avoided another barrage and outmaneuvered the attacking fighter. He was about to finish him when several shots caused him to veer away, losing his target. One of the pirates was closing on him fast.

"Alright, you wanna play? Lets play!" He shouted. These guys were good, but their ships were all outdated. Falco could fly circles around any one of them. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for his CDF friends. The attack had taken them all off guard, and most of the ones that weren't already destroyed were scattered. Risking a quick glance, Falco noticed two of the enemy fighters approaching the transports, slowing to match their velocity.

"Katt! What the hell are you doing?! Keep those guys off the convoy!"

"I'm a little busy at the moment!-damn! I can't…Ah!!!"

Falco fired off a few shots, and the fighter in his crosshairs ignited, streaked a distance, and exploded. "Hold on!"

He fired at the other fighter, causing him to evade and giving Falco the chance to break and help Katt. Her fighter spiraled away from the convoy. Its frame was damaged, and it didn't look like she had control of the ship, but she didn't eject. The fighter pursuing her seemed satisfied with leaving her crippled, and diverted to engage the last of her CDF fighters as it came to Katt's aid.

"Katt! Are you alright?!" Falco yelled, panic clenching at his stomach.

"Fi-static-. Ejection system's ju-static-untioning. Be careful,-static-uy's good."

Katt's attacker downed his target, the finishing hit sending it careening past the transports. One of the two enemy fighters from earlier had broken away from them to engage the remaining escort but the assault type drifted nearby, getting left behind with its cockpit open and both its vac-suit clad pilots clinging to the side of the lead transport.

"Damn it!" Falco boomed, heading straight for the pirate that shot Katt down. Whoever this guy was, he was damn good. The CDF pilots couldn't touch him, and he was keeping what was left of them scattered. As long as he was free to engage targets at will, the remaining escort fighters wouldn't be able to cover the transports.

Falco moved in, full throttle. His targeting reticule zeroed in on the pirate until it was nearly locked, but the fighter veered hard at the last moment. Falco stayed on him.

"Caught your attention?" he growled, staying close behind. The two maneuvered around each other, exchanging fire, both attempting to herd the other into a losing position. The guy was slippery. His fighter looked to be a survivor of Andross's forces from the Lylat war. Falco should've been able to outrun, outmaneuver, and outgun him, but every time he thought he had him, the bastard slipped out, and turned the tables. It was starting to piss him off.

He rolled hard, the g-diffusers doing their thing as they reacted with the shields, and several blasts ricocheted off his ship. He came out of the roll in hot pursuit of his opponent. They were getting farther and farther away from the convoy. Ahead, Titania's sand ring grew closer and closer.

"Trying to lose me in the ring?" Falco smirked, "You really think I'm gonna let you get away you sonuvabitch?!"

In a few short seconds the sand began to thicken around his ship, rolling off the shields. Visibility degraded, and Falco's sensors began to have trouble tracking his target, but he stayed on him, firing wildly in hopes of getting lucky. Suddenly, the pirate plunged beneath some unseen object and disappeared.

Almost too late, a large asteroid loomed in front of Falco, mostly hidden in the dense sands. He braked hard, pulling up as fast as he could manage. The huge rock came within a hair's width of the Sky Claw before he burst free of the sand ring, back into open space. In the distance he was able to make out the streak of the hijacked transport and the remaining two pirate fighters accelerating into the warp before several direct hits decimated his shields from behind, his opponent emerging from the sand behind him.

Falco's heart leapt into his throat, his mind going blank. For an instant all he could imagine was the finishing shot bursting through this ship, and his ensuing death…but the shot didn't come. The pirate heisted a moment before breaking off and making a break for sand again.

Falco was on him in a heartbeat, fear, relief, and adrenaline fogging his mind as he squeezed the trigger as hard as he could. The pirate had doomed himself. In a dogfight like theirs, especially with the difference in their ships' performances, hesitation meant death. The fighter tried to dodge, but its shields were being hammered by hit after hit, and by the time they emerged on the other side of the ring its engines were flaming as it barreled out of control toward Titania. Falco veered off as the planet's gravity claimed the pirate fighter. It became a burning streak as it entered atmosphere at break-neck speed.

"…that's the end of him," Falco whispered, his breathing unsteady. He headed back toward the remaining CDF forces, but by the time he got there it was over. The pirates had escaped with the transport. Two interceptors from the surface were just arriving, and Falco was being hailed.

"Mr. Lombardi? We're here in response to the disturbance. What's your status?"

"I'm in one piece," he said, "I was contracted to help escort this convoy, but you can see how that turned out…"

Falco agreed to land at the research station along with Katt and the two surviving CDF pilots to be debriefed and to see to Katt's injuries. His head was spinning. This mission had gone spectacularly wrong. He'd failed to fulfill his contract, so he probably wasn't going to get paid, his ship was beat up, Katt's was totaled…and besides all that, something just didn't feel right. Why did that pirate hesitate? He had him! One more hit and Falco would have been the guest of honor at a closed casket funeral. A pilot that skilled shouldn't have made that mistake – wouldn't have made that mistake!

Somewhere off in the distance, just beneath the ring on its shadowed side, a flash of fiery light sparked for a moment, then faded.

"What now?" Falco murmured under his breath.

"Looks like one of those old mining stations near the ring just lit up," one of the interceptor pilots answered, having apparently heard him, "I'll check it out and meet the rest of you on the surface."

"Fine," Falco agreed, coming alongside the other interceptor. "Hey Katt, you holding up okay?"

"NO!" she fired back, "-static-tract just flew-static-he window!! And look at my-static-! It's a wreck!!"

Falco sighed, switching off the com. The two CDF pilots locked her fighter with their grav-fields and began towing it along with them as they all followed the interceptor toward the research facility. A CDF cruiser would be there soon, and there was going to be a lot of questions.

Peppy wasn't going to be happy about this…


	5. Chapter 5

**Titania: The Great Desert**

Fox removed his sweltering helmet and tossed it aside. His vac-suit had lost power hours ago, leaving him exposed to the scorching sun and dry winds of Titania. The sun beat down without mercy, baking the endless dunes as waves of heat rippled through the air. From atop the dune he could just make out something in the distance, but the heat made it hard to tell what it was.

When he had first crashed, he had managed to get his bearings from his fighter's navigation systems, marking him at about forty miles south of the CDF research facility. His initial plan was to try and reach the facility by relying on his suit. As a survival measure designed to sustain a downed pilot until a rescue operation could be mounted, most vac-suits were able to maintain an internal environment by controlling their temperature and recycling water and oxygen given off by the pilot's body. They were usually able to function for around forty-eight hours. His, however, had died after just twelve.

Beside that, he'd seen great red clouds building on the horizon as he moved – the beginning of one of Titania's fierce ion storms.

Ever since then Fox had been headed toward a signal he had picked up just before the suit had ceased to function. It was weak, and he didn't know what to expect, but at this rate, he would never make it to the research station. Whatever was out there, he had to reach it. The desert was sapping his strength. Fox was in good shape, but he wasn't acclimatized to such harsh conditions, and without his vac-suit, he didn't stand a chance out here. He had to find shelter before the storm hit.

He made his way down the dune, careful with his footing so as not to slip in the shifting sands. As the bottom approached, and the ground began to level, Fox allowed for a faster pace. Just as he reached the bottom, he whirled around, pistol drawn. His helmet came rolling down the side of the dune, coming to a halt as it nestled itself in the sand just below him.

Fox scanned the terrain for any signs of movement. The only sound to be heard above the wind was that of his own heart as it pounded in his chest. Sand shifted and slid down the dune. It had probably been loosened by the falling helmet… He lowered his weapon, backing toward it. He knelt to get a closer look. It appeared to be untouched. He had left it at the top of the dune. The sand was sloped up there, but not enough for it to have starting rolling on its own.

Fox's hairs were on end as he stood, mountains of sand towering on all sides. Titania was supposed to be barren. Rumor had it that the planet was once green and booming with life, but some great cataclysm had blasted the world to ruin. Even now, periodic ion storms ravaged its surface, often so fiercely that sand was thrown into orbit, gradually forming the planets ring.

Reluctantly, he turned his back and continued onward. He didn't have time to waste investigating a rolling helmet. As he drew closer to the object in the distance, it began to take clearer shape. It was a structure, possibly an outpost of some kind. All he could see was the oddly battered defensive wall that surrounded whatever was inside. He reached the place soon enough, walking around it until he found a door. It was worn, having apparently seen little use over the last few years. The desert seemed to have taken its toll.

Fox pried open the control panel beside the door. There were a few frayed wires, but other than that it seemed manageable. After a moment of tampering the panel sparked, and the door made a clicking noise as it unlocked. It only opened about half-way, but it was good enough. He slipped in sideways, and pushed the door closed by the handle he found on the other side. It clicked as it closed, apparently locking again. It may have been unnecessary, but something was wearing on his nerves. For some time now, he had gotten the feeling he was being followed.

He kept his pistol drawn as he moved about. Inside the walls there was a small, flat central building, an entrance to a larger sub terrain facility by the look of it; a large reinforced shed; and a spiraled staircase leading up to the catwalks along the top of the walls. There were two turrets on opposite corners of the wall, but neither seemed to be in working order.

The shed was locked. He rattled the door to see if it would come loose, but without success. Resolving to get it open, he leveled his blaster on the lock, and fired. It exploded into molten fragments, and he easily slid the door up and out of the way. Fox was met by a waft of hot air, but was pleased with what he found.

Two levicraft sat side-by-side in the dust. Behind them there was a reservoir of fuel, a small emergency generator, and to the side lay an open toolbox, its tools scattered about the floor. Neither of the vehicles appeared functional, but several panels on one of the craft were open. The tools seemed to be centralized around it, leading Fox to believe that it was repairable, or at least that someone was trying to repair it before the place was abandoned. The other was a wreck. Extensive damage to its frame, as well as several missing components and shredded wires made it abundantly clear that it was not going to function. He noticed that most of the mangled craft's damage seemed to be localized around the unit's battery. He could try to scavenge it for spare parts to repair the other, but beyond that, it was useless.

The loud cracking of the approaching storm caught his attention, and he decided it would be best to try and get the entrance to the main building open. Upon closer inspection, the entrance to the inner facility turned out to be a heavy security door. If he wanted in, he was going to have to get that generator working.

He walked back toward the shed, holstering his pistol to free up his hand. The generator seemed to be in good shape. The shed had been sealed, so the harsh conditions of the desert had had little effect on what lay inside. It wasn't very big, so it was unlikely that it was the main generator. More than likely, it was only meant to open the door and possibly power some minor systems until the main power could be brought online.

The tank was empty, but that was to be expected. Usually, when an outpost like this was left, fuel would be removed and returned to the main reservoir for long term storage. It was a small matter to fill it from the reservoir, and he soon had the generator up and running. It took a few minutes to warm up, and it shook a bit too much, but soon it was humming efficiently. The dust rattled off, and settled on the ground. A few small lights illuminated the shed as the outpost's sub-systems came online. Fox felt a bit of satisfaction. This was the first thing that had gone smoothly since he'd crashed on this miserable planet.

His momentary relief was shattered by the blare of an alarm. It filled the air with noise for a few seconds, and then died as abruptly as it had begun. Fox ran out of the shed in time to see the security door hiss open. He was a bit jumpy from the alarm, so his hand stayed on the pistol grip of his blaster. He could feel the air rushing through the doorway as he stepped through. The temperature inside was at least twenty degrees cooler. His foot caught on something as he walked inside. What he saw when he looked down made his skin crawl.

A dried up husk of a corpse, one arm stretched toward the entrance, lay face down on the floor. Its skin was like leather, pulled taunt across its bones. An old Venomonian military uniform, still in good condition, was draped around its withered body.

"So much for this place being abandoned," Fox mumbled. An uneasy feeling was creeping into his stomach as he peered farther down the corridor. It sloped downward, and a line of emergency lights along the wall lead to a second door a few meters away. "Why was this guy trying to leave?" he asked himself. And more importantly, why was he dead?

Outside, the wind was starting to pick up as the skies above darkened. He instantly knew he didn't want to be here, but he had nowhere else to go, given the circumstances. Suppressing a shiver, he moved forward. The inner door wasn't locked, and hung partially open. Fox cautiously stepped through and into the facility proper. It was warm, but compared to outside, it felt like heaven. It was too dark to see properly. The lights were obviously only meant to be a guide. They hugged the wall, leading around the corner and down a ladder well. Giving the darkness a wary look, he grabbed the rungs, and descended. Each step echoed loudly, as if trying to wake the dead.

Fox forced the unwanted thought away and continued downward. He followed the lights past two floors before the ladder ended at the third. As soon as he was off and his firing hand was free, he pulled his blaster from its holster. Being four stories underground in a dark bunker with a dead man was making him a bit edgy, and having his pistol ready did wonders for his nerves. He found himself in a dimly lit store room. Large crates were piled all around with a clear path left open to the door on the other side of the room. The lights lead to it, and he followed. He passed through an area filled with machinery he couldn't make out, and then the lights finally ended at an illuminated lever, designated 'Main Start'. Fox pushed the lever into the 'ON' position, and watched as the nearby generator came to life. The lights came on, flooding the bunker with much needed illumination.

The first thing that caught his attention was an irregular spot on the wall above and behind the generator. It was warped, bending away from something lower on the wall, but the bulky generator blocked whatever the source of the damage was. It was irrelevant at the moment, so he turned his attention elsewhere. The machinery around him started to work. With the light, he was able to identify an air circulation system, hydro system, and several machines he wasn't sure about. He realized he was in the maintenance area of the bunker. He made a note that the bottom floor included this as well as the store room.

The light was comforting, but he still wasn't ready to holster his weapon. He made his way back toward the ladder, but froze half way through the store room. Near the ladder, a skeletal leg stuck out from a space between two crates. His grip tightened on his blaster as he drew nearer, getting a better look at what lie inside. The body he found was much like the one at the entrance. Nothing but leathery skin stretched over bone, but this one wasn't face down. It stared out at him with its sunken eyes from the small niche, its skull-like face, jaw hanging open in a mask of horror, was frozen in death.

Fox backed away, unable tear his eyes from the grotesque remains. The way its face was twisted, the way it seemed to stare at him, it made his stomach tighten. Finally, he forced himself to look elsewhere, focusing on his feet. He hadn't expected this, and it took him a moment to get control of his nerves. His breathing was heavy, and his heart beat wildly. Something had gone wrong here – very wrong.

"WARNING!" a calm, automated voice came from a speaker high on the wall, "AN ION STORM HAS BEEN DETETECTED WITHIN FIVE MILES OF THIS STATION. LOCKDOWN WILL BE IN EFFECT IN 30 SECONDS. ALL PERSONEL ARE TO REPORT TO THE BUNKER IMMEDIATELY."

"Shit!" Fox yelled, leaping onto the ladder. He frantically reached for rung after rung, trying to reach the top as the automated voice counted down second after agonizing second. After what felt like an eternity of climbing, he vaulted himself over the last rung, breaking into a sprint as soon as his feet hit the ground. The now illuminated upper floor of the bunker was in disarray, but he had no time to look around as he whirled around the corner. His frenzied dash came to an abrupt end as he leapt over the corpse. The voice reached one, and the door sealed with alarming speed, only a fraction of a second before he could reach it, causing him to bash painfully against the thick metal obstacle.

Stumbling back a few paces and cradling his sore shoulder, his eye fell on the first victim, arm stretched hopelessly toward the sealed door. Fox felt his heart sink as he found himself sympathizing with the dead man.


	6. Chapter 6

Bunker

Fox pounded on the control for the door until his fist throbbed, but an automated voice simply apologized and calmly informed him of the security lockdown that was in effect. He took a moment to calm his nerves before deciding what to do. He was trapped, at least until things calmed down out there, but it wasn't as if he had anywhere to go anyway. Hell, if he had escaped, he'd be locked out in the middle of the storm, so he was probably better off. Still, he didn't like it.

There were two dead bodies in here, and judging by their appearance, neither had died peacefully. But how long had they been dead? What killed them? What had happened in this place? As he regained his calm, more and more questions ran through his head. Why were the bodies only withered, rather than rotted? The bunker was sealed, and the lower levels remained cool, so the body down in the store room should have at least shown signs of decay. Besides that, the uniforms they wore were of Venom's forces during the Lylat War, nearly fifteen years ago…First things first, he needed to familiarize himself with his surroundings.

Fox walked back into the bunker. A layer of dust had long since settled over everything, stirring beneath his feet with each step. The air circulation system started up just as he was passing beneath a vent, covering him with a plume of dust. He coughed and covered his mouth with a hand, stumbling forward until he bumped into something. It was a terminal of some kind. He brushed it off, and gave it a once over. It appeared to be communications equipment, but before Fox could get his hopes up, he noticed several areas where the terminal was badly damaged. Blackened scoring suggested it had taken several hits from a blaster.

He sighed, turning from the useless equipment, and headed toward the ladder well. "I really hate this planet," he growled. He couldn't help but be frustrated at this point. Sure, the mission was a success. Warren and his men had escaped with the transport, but that didn't mean a thing if Fox wasn't around to get his reward. Vicini would be more than happy to assume he was dead. Then he wouldn't have to pay him.

"Damn it, Falco," he said aloud.

The whole thing was wrong. Falco wasn't supposed to be there. It was supposed to have been someone from Star Wolf. If it had been, he wouldn't be in this mess. He'd be back on the Great Fox, laying low and waiting to get paid.

He paused just before the ladder well. There was a door that he hadn't noticed earlier, and odd black stains on the ground. The door didn't have a window, so he couldn't see inside, but it appeared to be sturdily reinforced. A keypad on the wall beside it implied that it was code locked. Fox tried opening it on the chance he was mistaken, but it was no good. Deciding to come back to it later, he mounted the ladder, and climbed down a level. When he jumped off, he found himself in what appeared to be living quarters. There was a vid-screen and some furniture. Several doors lead from a central room, opening into sleeping quarters. He wasn't surprised this time when he found two more dead. Both were lying in their beds, having apparently died in their sleep. They were the same as the others, withered, but still preserved.

He was about to leave, when he noticed something strange about one of the bodies. There was an odd colored stain on the bedding beside it. Fox walked over and pulled the decrepit covers aside to get a better look. There was a tear in the skin on the left side, revealing bare ribs. The bones were stained black, and beneath them…nothing. There was no organs, no tissue, only rubbery skin stretched over black bones. He stared a moment before covering the body again.

Bones didn't just turn black, and intestines didn't rot and leave the skin intact. Whatever had caused this was what had killed everyone in the bunker, he was sure of it. He searched the area, for anything else, but nothing caught his eye, so he decided to head down to the third level. It was the only area he hadn't been to yet, and he was hoping for something that would shed a little light on what went on in this place.

As it turned out, he was in luck. The next level was a small lab. The equipment was still intact, and several data terminals sat with lit screens, awaiting use. Fox sat down at the first terminal. The words 'SYSTEM RESTART/PRESS ANY KEY' blinked on and off.

"Now we're talking," he said, striking a key.

The terminal beeped, then went through a series of routines before resuming whatever program it had been running before it had shut down. A voice recording opened, and Fox played it.

"Hello? This recording?" a playful feminine voice asked, "Good. Today marks the beginning of my rise to archeological fame! In a few short hours, we will begin excavation of the ruins which we discovered a year ago, just five kilometers from this outpost! Best news? We don't have to pay CDF sanctions for the dig! We've all been contracted by JinCorp, an independent corporation owned by a gentleman named Sirus Vekker, who, as it turns out, is under government employ, meaning he gets a pass on the fees and government interference that we'd normally have to deal with on this sort of operation. We owe it all to Evan for introducing us to Sirus in the first place. Anyway, that's all the time I have for now, gotta go to work! (laughter)"

So the purpose for this installation was to serve as a forward base for archeological research. Judging by the date on the recording, it had been made just before the beginning of the Lylat War. Back then Andross's RnD department had set up several dummy corporations to lure in promising scientists while avoiding the watchful eye of the Cornerian Government. Fox had a feeling that that was exactly what this was. He needed more information, so he went on to the next entry.

"Wow! Time really flies, right? Okay, here we are, week two! My fiancé, Evan, is being transferred here to be our company rep. I'm so excited! I haven't seen him since we started the dig! Anyway, things have been going great. I knew we'd found something big, but I had no idea how big until now! Titania has been known to have extremely surprisingly advanced ruins buried beneath the sands, but this is something else all together! What we originally discovered was a metallic structure, about four-hundred meters in diameter, that had been partially unearthed by a passing storm, but what we saw was just the tip of the iceberg! The actual size of the ruins could very well be ten times that! We're all excited, but we have to get some sleep. Gotta build up our energy for tomorrow!"

A metallic structure? Fox hadn't seen anything on his way here, but then, fifteen years is more than enough time for whatever they had been working on to have been swallowed by the desert. Besides, the recording hadn't mentioned in what direction the structure lay.

Fox's thoughts were interrupted by a faint scraping sound. He couldn't tell where it was coming from, but whatever it was it didn't last long, and after a moment of listening Fox returned to the recordings.

"Week four. We've made progress at the dig sight. Excavation's been difficult due to the sand, but we manage." The voice was different, defiantly the same person, but she sounded worn out, or possibly depressed. "I'm…I'm beginning to have doubts, about the dig, about JinCorp. Whenever I try to talk to Evan about it he gets…well, distant. I think he's keeping something from me, but I just don't know what it could be. And what is it we're digging up? We've unearthed what looks like debris, possibly from the main structure, which seems to have taken severe damage…but from what? What IS this thing? It shows signs of technology, but it's strange, incompatible with anything we know of, which means it's either seriously outdated…or unbelievably advanced. We have no idea how any of it works, so we have no way of finding out for now. On another note, I'm not sure, but I think someone had been tampering with the computers in the lab, so I'm going to start encrypting my research data and saving it here on my PDU. That's all for now."

The computers had been tampered with. Her suspicions were confirmed by the fact that he was listening to her personal recordings, which were apparently recorded on a personal data unit, here on one of the lab computers, but if they were here, then where was the research data she'd mentioned? He searched the computer, but, finding nothing, returned to the recordings.

"Not too long ago JinCorp sent a couple of guys that Ethan said were security personnel, but he wouldn't say why we needed them…If you ask me, they're here to watch us. I think we're all in way over our heads. Brian thinks we should cut and run, but…I just can't leave what could be the biggest discovery of our time! Anyway, I'll have some time to think about it soon. The hub station has detected an ion storm headed this way. It's a big one, so we'll be locked in here for a few days while we wait for it to blow over. Anyway, we're trying to get as much work done at the dig site as we can before the storm hits, including shielding it. We don't want all of our work so far to be buried again."

Fox searched expectantly for the next recording, but there was nothing. All other data stored on the computer ended three days after the date on the final recording. He didn't like the fact that this all seemed to coincide with the coming of an ion storm.

Having nothing else to gain from it, Fox left the terminal. He was thirsty, and decided he would search the storage area for water, and possibly something to eat. The scraping was constant now, and it seemed to be coming from the walls. Shifting sand maybe? He shook his head and mounted the ladder, climbing down into the bottom level of the bunker. He avoided the corps as he searched the crates, eventually finding what he was looking for. There were two crates with water, but one was partially opened, and the water inside was a murky brown color. The other was sealed, so its contents were clean and cool. He hadn't realized just how thirsty he was until he began to drink. It felt wonderful as it slid from his cupped hands, past his lips, and down his throat, but he made sure not to drink too much too fast. Doing so would make him sick, and he'd wind up loosing more water if he vomited. When he'd drank enough, he removed the cap from the canteen on his waist and plunged it into the tank, filling it to the brim before replacing the cap and returning it to its pouch.

Behind him, he could hear the powerful hum of the generator, but above that there was something else – a clicking sound. He turned to see what it was and froze. Something was sitting on top of the generator, a scaled worm with four insect-like legs near its front. Its head swung slowly from side to side as it made a low, clicking noise.

Fox pulled his pistol from its holster and started moving back toward the ladder. The blaster gave a small whir as it armed itself, and the creature's head snapped toward him. It hissed vehemently, spreading wide fin-like organs from its sides as its maw opened revealing a ring of fangs with a single, dripping spike half extending from the center.

Not wanting to see what would happen next, he fired, blasting the upper half of the worm into burning chunks of molten flesh. The rest slid limply off the generator, landing on the floor with a wet smack.

"So much for Titania being barren…" he mumbled, half lowering his blaster as he scanned the area for any more of the creatures. Whatever that thing was, it hadn't looked friendly.

Fox moved in for a closer look at what was left. Half of it was gone now, but it would have probably been as long as his arm before he'd killed it, and it smelled awful. The thing had gotten into the bunker somehow, but when? Had it been here before he had found the place, or had it found some way to get in once the bunker was sealed?

He hoped it wasn't the latter, but he seriously doubted it had been here the whole time without him noticing. His eyes drew to the warped spot behind the generator. He had a bad feeling as, weapon at the ready, he made his way around the large machine. The damage to the wall became more apparent as he went, but there wasn't enough room between the wall and the generator for him to squeeze in for a better look. He went as far as he could, and was just able to make out a hole about a foot above the floor. This was more than likely how the worm had gotten in, and he had a hunch that this wasn't the first time it had happened. From deep within the hole he could hear more clicking, and some other sound he couldn't make out.

Before he could slide back out from behind it, he noticed the back of the generator. The frame was battered, and a few wires hung uselessly. The thing had been attacking the generator, and judging by the clicking sounds, it had friends. If the generator failed…The image of the first corpse, arm reaching for the sealed door, floated to the surface of his mind.

He needed to block that hole before-

Something slammed into his side, knocking him to the ground. Fox's head smashed against the wall as he fell, and he fought to remain conscious. A second worm clung fiercely to his side, head drawn back with its maw spread wide, as it prepared to pierce his ribs with its spike. His blaster lay on the ground several feet out of his reach.

"Sorry," Fox grunted as he jammed his arm between himself and his attacker, "but if I die now I'll never get paid!" He drew his knife from its sheath on his thigh and jammed it down on what he assumed was the worm's head. It shrieked and recoiled, loosening its grip enough for Fox to throw it off.

He rolled to the side, grabbing his blaster. The worm recovered, and pounced again. It was in mid air as Fox fired. His shot found its midsection, and it exploded into two sizzling pieces. The majority of it was gone, but the upper portion, a single a leg clinging by a scrap of flesh, landed wetly by Fox's head. The other half slid down the far wall.

The noises coming from the hole were getting louder as he got to his feet. Still dizzy from hitting his head, he stumbled back toward the store room, sealing the door to the maintenance area behind him. Fox gained an uncomfortable understanding of the scraping at the walls as he grabbed onto the ladder and started to climb.


	7. Chapter 7

**Escape**

Fox topped the ladder and slumped down against the wall, covering his eyes with a hand. The spinning was fading, but

was being replaced by a steady, pulsing throb. What the hell were those things? As far as he knew, there wasn't supposed to

be anything alive on Titania. Aside from Androsse's bio weapons, the world had been barren of any kind of flora or fauna since

it was first discovered centuries ago, and all of those hellish creations had been hunted down and destroyed after the war. In

any event, he had a feeling they were behind the corpses littering this bunker. As far as he could tell, he had them sealed with

the generator, but that was probably only a temporary solution. There were bodies on every level, so they were cabable of

moving throughout the facility somehow. Waiting on the upper level probably wasn't going to keep him safe for too long, but

how were they able to spread? It wasn't too far fetched that they could climb the ladder well, but there had been signs of

struggle throughout the bunker, and Fox doubted no one had thought to seal off the lower levels.

He peered through his fingers at his surroundings. Other than the layer of dust, everything seemed to have been well

preserved. He noted that the blaster scoring he'd noticed earlier wasn't just on the communications equipment. There was

more blackened craters along the walls and floor, and the blast patterns were odd. If the creatures had been spreading from the

ladder well, there would have been a large concentration of fire on the area around it, but it looked like there had been hardly

any shots fired in this direction at all. Most of the damage was done to the equipment, and the area surrounding it, which made

no sense at all. Why would they destroy their only means of calling for help? He stood, the sudden movement causing a wave

of pain to shoot through his skull. He took a moment to recover and then began examining the blast marks. From the

equipment, the blasts ran in two directions, becoming less concentrated as they went, meaning there had been two lines of fire

and the shooters were being overrun by an advancing enemy. One line of fire lead to another corpse which was collapsed over

a broken chair, so at least one of the shooters had died in the fight. The area where the fire was most concentrated was likely

where the struggle had started, meaning that it was where the enemy was advancing from. He searched the area around the

equipment for holes like the one behind the generator, or any other apparent entrances for the worms, but nothing seemed to

stand out until he noticed the vent on the wall above the thrashed equipment. The grate was missing, and there where

clawmarks all around it. He thought for a moment. The vent was part of the bunker's air circulation system, the main machinery

for wich was in the maintenance area along with the generator. He sighed. Locking them down there was pointless...

Fox took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Knowing an enemy's movements was always an advantage, and he now

knew how the worms were able to move through the bunker. He could just hear the shrieks and booms of the storm through

the protective shielding of the bunker, reminding him that he was trapped in here. All in all, things looked pretty bad. Even if he

found a way to get out, the storm would kill him the second he set foot outside, but his chances for survival in here weren't

much better.

"Think Fox," he whispered to himself. His thoughts went back to the blast marks. One shooter was accounted for, but

where was the other? He wasn't interested in where or how any of them had died, but if the second shooter hadn't died here,

then maybe he had escaped, or at least found a way to hold out until the storm passed. He traced the second line of fire,

trying to determine where exactly the other body would be, but as the shots strayed from the equipment they became more

erratic. The shooter had likely begun to panic and started firing more wildly as his attackers advanced. This made it difficult to

determine exactly where he had been firing from.

Fox placed himself in the general area the shooter should have stood, drew his own blaster and leveled it at the vent

above the equipment. He imagined those creatures pouring from it, crawling over the equipment, moving toward him. He

concidered possible escape options as his imaginary enemy closed in on him. The door to the outside was too far, and too

close to the vent, and besides that it was sealed shut, so that would only prove to be a dead end - pointless. The ladder well

was nearby, and to a panicing gunman it might seem like a good escape rout, but if it were him, he'd know that the worms

would likely have already been swarming over the lower levels. That left only one way out. The sealed door by the

ladder that he had noticed earlier was just to his right, easily within reach. It made sense that the shooter, being armed, was

one of the security personnel that the recordings from the lab had mentioned, and if that were the case, then he likely had

access to the sealed room. It would seem a good place to take cover, given the circumstances.

He holstered his blaster and approached the door. He knew it was locked, and he had no way of knowing the code for

the keypad. He supposed he could simply blast the pad and hope for the best, but if that didn't work he'd have no other way of

opening it. He decided to search around a bit more, possibly the bodies of the security personnel, for anything that might help.

He'd blast the lock if it came down to it, but that would be his last resort. He searched the closest body first, rifleing through

the clothing draped from its withered frame. He didn't find much, just a set of dog tags. This corpse was apparently named

Anthony, and had died at the age of twenty-eight. Fox suppressed a shiver. He didn't like knowing his name.

The lights flickered around him, then came back on. Those things were making progress on the generator. If it went, all

he would have would be the back up power from the smaller generator outside, and it had a limited fuel supply. He felt himself

growing tense again, and took a moment to calm down. There was always a way out of any situation, and he had to keep his

head as clear as possible if he wanted to find it. The next body was the one by the entrance. Fox patted it down, dug through

its pockets, but found nothing. He noticed one of its arms was tucked under the rest of the body, so he rolled it over. The face

was as grotesque as the one in the storage area. Whatever those worms did to you, it was painful. Shifting his attention to the

now uncovered arm, he noticed it was holding something. The fingers were stiff and rigid, but with some effort he mannaged to

pry them apart and take what it was clutching. It was a small mem-stick. They were outdated now, but back when this bunker

was in use mem-sticks were used to transfer and store data from one system to another. Maybe this one still worked. He had

to know. He was running out of leads, and this was promising. Unfortunately the only working computers in the bunker were

two levels down in the lab, just above the maintenance area, but he didn't have any other choice, so he'd just have to be quick.

He ran to the ladder, and, not wasting time with the rungs, grabbed the rails and slid down. The friction started to

burn his hands as he dropped, but he clung on long enough to reach the lab, and sprung off onto the deck. Half a heartbeat later

he was at the computer, jammed the stick into the receiving slot, and started pouring through the files. What he found was

volumes of research data from the dig, as well as several security log entries. He didn't have time to search everything, so he

started going through the security data. The lights flickered again, and the screen blinked a few times before everything came

back on. He opened file after file, scanning for anything useful but not really reading any of it, until his eye caught what he was

looking for.

"...furthermore, the locker room on the upper level is to be reinforced and converted into a makeshift armory. All arms,

ammunition, and items or information deemed 'sensitive' will be stored there. The code for the lock will be changed as of 0800

to 1-7-5-6-9. Leaking this code to any other than security personnel will result in immediate removal from mission, and

punishment decided by court marshal..."

It continued, but Fox didn't need anything else. He removed the stick from its port, and headed for the ladder. The

scraping was much louder down here than it was before, and it was working on his nerves. He made for the ladder, but stoped

when he heard something metal strike the floor behind him. He turned, backing toward the ladder. A small plume of dust was

just settling around a vent grate that had fallen from the vent above the computer he had just been sitting at, and a slow,

steady clicking noise came from the opening. It stuck its head out first, spreading its fin organs as it did. It crawled down the

wall, and started scanning from left to right, letting out clicks steadily as it did.

Fox's hand dropped to his blaster, but he remembered before. The worm hadn't noticed him until his weapon armed.

He kept his hand on the grip, but didn't draw or arm it. The worm moved about, folding its fins back as it skitted from one spot

to another, then stopping to re-spread them and resume scanning. It was looking for something. The functioning lab

equipment seemed to attract it, and it hissed at each one it came across before losing interest and moving on, but it didn't

seem to notice him. Fox could draw more than fast enough to kill the thing before it noticed him, but he didn't want to risk

attracting any more, so he grabbed the ladder and-

The lights went out. Fox heard the buzz and hum of machinery die as the bunker lost function, and soon all he could

hear was the scraping...and a hiss. He didn't move. Dim light flooded from the ladder well as the backup power came on, and

the worm was staring directly at him, fins spread wide. It hissed again, and charged toward him. Fox drew and fired, blowing the

thing's head to pieces. He holstered the weapon and leapt onto the ladder. He could just make out two shapes emerging from

the vent as he climbed through to the next floor. He passed the dormitory level and emerged onto the upper floor, drawing his

blaster again as soon as he had a free hand. The pad on the door was still illuminated, and he punched in the code from the

mem-stick. It chimed and he heard the lock release. There was banging and scraping coming from the vents as the worms

scrambled through them. He was out of time, so he opened the door, got in, and closed it behind him. It locked as it closed,

and Fox found himself in a fairly small room, more of a large closet, or storage area with a small emergency light on the ceiling

that cast just enough light to see by. He could make out weapons racks along the right wall, and shelving along the left. the

first thing he did was to make sure there weren't any air vents, checking along the floor and walls, but there weren't any.

Relieved, he slumped back onto the sealed door. He had bought himself some more time, but things had become

complicated. Now that the main generator was down, he only had a few hours, tops, before he was completely in the dark, and

for all he knew, the door to the outside needed power to function. If he didn't find a way out before the backup generator ran out

of fuel, he'd be stuck in here, storm or no storm.

He looked around. The shelves held a number of strange objects and devices, most of which looked completely

unfamiliar with the exception of what looked like a modified personal shielding unit, and, tucked in the back of a shelf, a PDU.

Fox picked up the PDU and turned it over in his hand. It didn't appear to be damaged, but when he tried to turn it on it was

unresponsive. He reached for his knife to pry the back panel off, but groped at an empty sheath. He'd forgotten that it was

jammed into part of a dead worm downstairs. He shook his head, grabbed the flattest, thinnest object he could find,

and after a few attempts, got the panel loose. The power cell was probably dead, so he poped it out. The only other power

supply he had available was his blaster, so he dropped the ammo cell from it and got to work. The next thing he needed was

some wire. He thought a minute, then opened the wrist unit on his vac suit, bent it back, and snapped it off. He tore the thing

apart, and salvaged a small bit of wire. There hadn't been much, but it would do.

A short time and a good bit of tampering later, he had the ammo cell rigged into the power supply of the PDU. The cell

hung loosely by the wire, so he had to hold the PDU in one hand and the cell in the other. It was a bit awkward, and he

was no Slippy, but he was sure it would work. He pressed the power button, and the screen lit with the words "Welcome

Cathrine!" and a background picture of a beautiful young Cornairan female and a handsome Katinese man holding each other.

There was practically no data left on it, having likely been cleared by the security personnel, but there was one file, a personal

log entry, left on the device. He opened it and listened. A long, heavy sigh came from the PDU, then a man started to speak:

"I'm leaving this here in case anyone ever finds this place. I have a plan to get out, but its iffy, and I don't want the truth

to die with me. My name is Marlin, and I'm a soldier of Venom. I was assigned here less than a week ago to keep an eye on

the civilian researchers involved in the excavation. Their findings had caught the Emperor's attention in a big way, and he

wanted to assure that things continued smoothly. He called for the some of the best of his men, and I was chosen. Knowing

what I know now, I should have never agreed to this, but hind sight is twenty-twenty, right? I mean, how the hell were we

supposed to know about the worms?

"Anyway, everything was going smoothly until about six hours ago. Me and Anthony were outside installing the new

shielding unit we'd gotten from the labs back on Venom to the working levicraft. It was similar to the field around the dig sight,

and the one that protected the shed we housed our vehicles in, and was supposed to protect against the harmful energies,

radiation, and microwaves of this hell hole's ion storms, allowing us to continue work if one were to hit, and they'd sent us four

personal units along with the two for our vehicles. We hadn't had a chance to test them yet when the storm hit and we had one

on the levibike, but not the larger skiff, so we just sealed up the shed and headed inside with the researchers. We figured we

could just finish when the storm passed, ya know? ...Anthony's dead now...they're all dead, but those things aren't taking me

without a fight! I'm getting out of here, and I'm going to get that bastard Evan for what he did! As soon as the shit started to hit

the fan, he grabbed two of our storm shields, his little girlfriend, and the levibike, or only WORKING transport at the moment,

and took off to the dig sight where our transit shuttle is docked. The sight is shielded, so he probably thinks he can just wait

out the storm there and escape, figures we're all dead.

"...me and Anthony tried to hold them off on the upper level. See, we figured they were attracted to energy signals.

That's why the storm lured them up here, and that's why they were going after the generator, so we should be safe as long as

we stayed up here away from the generator. Well, Steven, the last surviving archeologist, gets the bright idea to sneak down

and shut off the Generator, hoping the worms would then be attracted by the greater energy of the ion storm, and leave. We

tried to stop the idiot, but he was nearly hysterical, and we only had two storm shields to get out of here with anyway, so if the

he died it would just save me and Anthony the trouble of shooting him later. Well the first part worked. He shut the generator off,

and the lights went out save the backups and our flashlights, but he never came back. Turns out all turning the generator off did

was make them focus on smaller energy sources...US. About five minutes later they were swarming through the vents, which

explained how the two had died down in the dormitories. They had died after lights out, when the generator powered down...we

woke up to them screaming...

"We tried to hold them off, but they just kept coming. Anthony got overwhelmed...I tried to help him, but he'd already

been stuck by one of them. God the screaming...I'm never going to forget the screaming. There was nothing I could do, so I

locked myself in here and figured out my plan. There's still two storm shields in here, so if I can get out of here, I can take one,

seal the door behind me, finish the repairs on the levicraft, and get to the dig sight before the storm clears and Evan leaves me

here. Once top side, there's about six feet of reinforced permacrete between me and those creatures, so I should be able to

work uninterrupted. All that's left it to install the dampener we salvaged from the wrecked levicraft. It should be ten minutes

work, tops. Hopefully the navigation equipment will still work, then its due west to the dig sight. Only problem is, how am I

going to avoid the worms and get to the door? Damn it, I don't know, but I'll figure something out. I have to hurry though...this

place has an emergency override code on the main door, 1-1-8-1-9-4, but if it loses power, there's no way of manualy opening

it. Truth be told, this place was designed to be a tomb from the start. Once we were done with the dig sight, we had orders to

destroy the main generator, lock the civilians in, and cut the power to the reserve, sealing them in for good. So far this place

has been on emergency power for about two hours, and I'm not sure how much longer the reserve will hold out.

"I'm running out of time, so I'm gonna cut this off. I...I just wanted someone to know. I'm taking a mem-stick with me

that has all the data we've uncovered here so far. My comrade's won't have died in vain if I can get it back to Venom with me."

There was a long pause, a deep breath, and then the man's final words, "Here I go!"

Fox set the PDU down, rubbing his temples to relieve his headache a bit. He had found the mem-stick on what he now

assumed to be Marlin's corpse. His escape attempt had apparently failed. Either the power had died, or he had never reached

the door to put in the override code. Whatever had happened, the worms had gotten him. Still, his plan seemed solid, and Fox

was out of options. He grabbed the personal shielding unit and strapped it on. It mounted like a back-pack, and was

surprisingly light. The activation switch was on the right shoulder strap, and Fox pressed it to make sure it worked. Luckily, it

gave a high pitched wirr, and covered Fox's body in a barely visible, wavering energy filed. He gave a relieved sigh, and

switched it back off. It was much more complicated than a PDU, so if the power hadn't worked, he doubted he would have been

able to jerry rig it. Next he needed a way of getting to the door. Marlin had probably just made a dash for it, and that hadn't

worked, so Fox was going to use a more tried and true method.

He walked over to the weapons rack and got an assessment of what he had to work with. There were two blaster rifles,

fully automatic, an ammo-cell for each, about half a dozen fragmentation grenades, another half-dozen riot grenades, and a

flashlight. The light was the first thing he grabbed. He then threw a nearby holster on, and slipped three of each grenade into it.

The riot grenades would make a deafening bang, and a bright flash, so hopefully they would serve to distract the worms and

allow him to slip by. Next he removed his pistol's ammo-cell from the PDU, reloaded it into he pistol, and holstered it on his

hip. And finally, he slammed a cell in one of the rifles, put the other in his ammo belt, and armed his weapons.

He paused for a moment, staring at the door he was about to open. He could hear the worms moving and scraping

around on the other side. He took a deep breath, let the adrenalin build, replacing his headache with a steady rush, then hit

the switch to open the door.

He immediately armed a riot grenade, and let it fly, slamming against the wall, and covering his eyes and ears. It went

off with an ear-shattering bang, and Fox was off. He charged out the door, dropping a frag down the ladder well as he passed it.

The worms were crawling everywhere, shrieking and scrambling chaoticly from the first grenade. The frag went off down below,

and was accompanied by a number of satisfying shrieks. Fox opened up with his rifle, killing anything between himself and the

exit as he ran forward. The worms were starting to notice him as he let the second riot grenade fly and kept charging. He

reached the hall to the exit, tossed his second frag in, and slammed his back against the wall. The riot grenade went off, and

fox shielded his eyes with his rifle. He wasn't covering his ears this time, so all he could hear was them ringing now, but he felt

the frag go off. Slightly disoriented, he continued his dash for freedom. The hall was splatterd with what was left of the worms

that had been inside as he rushed up to the main door. He pressed his back against it and entered the override code. Fox fired

wildly at the scores of creatures that were pouring into the hall after him as the lock released and the door began to slowly

slide open. He activated his shield just in time as the energies of the storm ripped through the hall, and into the buker. The

worms shrieked as thier flesh blackened, bubbled, and split from the onslaught, and Fox looked down to see Marlin's body in

the same condition. The storm's energy rolled harmlessly off his shield, and he headed out into the worst of it, sealing the door

behind him. The sky was blood red, and filled with arks of crimson lightening and torrents of swirling energy. Fox's hearing

began to return to the roaring and cracking of the chaos all around him.

His heart was beating wildly as he ran to the shed. He was relieved to see that the shield Marlin's recording had

mentioned was active, and what was inside was in one piece. He didn't waste much time finishing the repairs. Luckily most of

the work was already done, and he knew enough to identify an energy dampener. Installing it was a little tricky, and he found

himself wishing, for the second time, that he'd paid more attention to Slippy when he rambled about this sort of thing, but he

managed, and soon had the Levicraft hovering smoothly off the ground. He hopped in, activated it's storm shield, and backed it

out of the shed. There wasn't a gate big enough to get the thing through, but the walls around the bunker were only about

twelve feet high, well below the vehicle's max hovering elevation, so he was up and over soon enough, and tearing across the

sands. He wasn't sure were to go, but the ruins were supposed to be west. The navigation panel on the levicraft flitted and

blinked uselessly, but occasionally flashed a direction. Fox turned the little skiff in what he hoped was west and pushed the

accelerator all the way forward. The storm shields were unarguable effective against the storm, but did nothing to stop anything

physical, and hard winds and sand constantly blew in his face, making it hard to see exactly where he was going. He

regreted having thrown away his helmet, but kept the throttle forward regardless. He flew onward for several minutes before he

started to have his doubts. The dig sight should have been close to the bunker. It didn't make sense to make camp too far

away from it, and he was starting to think he had passed it when an bolt of lightning crashed into the horizon, illuminating

what appeared to be a large dome structure to his right. He turned the levicraft and headed for it. A few minutes later he was

there. It resembled a massive permacrete igloo, with the entrance extending from the main structure. Fox pulled up beside it,

jumped off the levicraft, and threw the large switched labeled "open."

There was a moment where nothing happened, and Fox's heart sunk into his stomach, but then there was a loud

clank, and the sound of moving machinery as the gate slid jerkingly open. It didn't open all the way, and Fox wasn't going to be

able to fit the levicraft inside, so he abandoned it, walked through the gate, and threw the switch on the other side, closeing it

behind him. It was pitch-black inside, so he removed the light from his belt, and flipped the switch. It flickered a few times, and

Fox hit it a few times until it produced a steady beam of illumination. Having only one hand, he hung his rifle on his back by its

strap, and pulled out his pistol instead. He used his left hand to hold the light and support his firing arm, pointing his light and

his weapon forward together, and continued inward. The entrance was big enough to have held at least three parked levicraft,

and still give plenty of room to move around. He moved about twenty yards before he came to the inner door. It was wide open,

and there was only blackness within. A slow, steady current of air blew outward as Fox moved through it cautiously, stepping

into the main dome chamber. It was even larger than it had appeared from the outside, most of it having likely been buried by

the desert over the last twelve or so years. His light didn't even reach the other side. It had to be at least eight hundred meters

in diameter, maybe more, and at its center, he could see a large metallic structure emerging from the ground like a massive spire.

What was strange was that the ground was rough and uneven, and seemed to be made of stone. The dome was man-made,

designed to sheild the dig-sight from the desert environment. That made sense, but the ground was stone? Shouldn't it have

been sand? It also sloped upward toward the far wall. He thought for a moment. Titania hadn't always been a desert. Maybe

this was the remains of the planets surface. It was possible that the archeologist had cleared enough sand away from the area

to uncover it, but as far as he knew, the sand went down hundreds feet, so how was there rock so close to the surface? A

mountain maybe?

Fox moved toward the central structure. There was archeological equipment scattered about, much of which was less

than well preserved, as well as several excavated areas, strange devices, and large crates. To the far right he could make out a

very large, sealed gate with what appeared to be an empty lading pad, probably for the transit shuttle the recording had

mentioned. He didn't think it would still be there, given that Evan and his fiance had likely made it here a long time ago.

He reached the center structure. About four-hundred meters, just like the the archeologist's memiors had said, but what

was it? It was made of a strange metal, with a dark, rippling blue appearance. There were no seams, no bolts, nothing, but it

appeared to continue some distance underground. He reached out and touched it, and a deep sound, like a large horn echoed

through the dome. The structure let out an erie glow, and the ground began to shake. As the light spread his eye foze on a

skeletal figure laying a few feet away. It was a female, skin like leather, eyes long gone, and face frozen in the same pain filled

mask of death as before, and from somewhere in the darkness a myriad of clicking and hissing began fill the air. Guess Evan's

fiance hadn't made it...

Before he could do anything a worm sprung from his left, slamming into him. He tried to fight it off, but yelled as he felt

the spike pierce his side. Managing to level his pistol on his attacker, he fired, blowing it to pieces. The upper half fell off of

him, but it was too late. It had injected something into him, and it spread like fire through is stomach. Every nerve in his body

screamed with pain, and his head spun sickeningly. He barely noticed that he was screaming at the top of his lungs as he

collapsed backward onto the glowing metal structure, gripping his sides from the agony.

He had a sinking feeling...like he was falling backward. The dome faded away as he fell through the wavy blue metal

and was replaced by well light coridors. As his conciousness faded, he could swear someone was talking to him...


	8. Chapter 8

Viccini

Vicini's yacht cruised peacefully along in high orbit of Fachina. He was fond of how the frozen wastes outside of the planet's terra-zones looked from space. There was simply something about all that endless white that was so pristine, so pure. The view was stunning from the observatory deck, the bottom-most area of his ship, where he now found himself. The entire floor of the room was a massive, albeit sturdily reinforced, view port which allowed for an uninterrupted, crystal clear scope of whatever he wished to see. There was no gravity in this room, so 'floor' was a relative term as he floated about, enjoying the view. Soothing, orchestral music played throughout the vessel, enhanced by the perfect acoustics with which each and every room on Vicini's vessel was painstakingly designed. The entire ship was a functional work of art, worth far more than its weight in gold, and it was his one solace in a world of corruption, lawlessness, and inevitable betrayal that was the criminal underground in which he lived...well, thrived, really.

His music was cut off and replaced by the voice of his ship's captain. "Sir, there is one 'Mr. Warren' requesting an audience with you. Shall I patch him through?"

Viccini sighed, took a last look at the splendor beyond his observatory, and pushed off the wall towards the door. "Yes, Vicini will speak with him," he said as he drifted, "Have the man patched through to my chambers when I arrive there. He can wait until then."

"Very good sir," the captain responded, being replaced once again by pleasant music.

Gravity took hold once again as he left the observatory, bringing back the impressive weight of his well fed frame as he walked. It didn't take long to reach his chambers. He preferred to sleep near his observatory so he wouldn't have to walk far. The dining hall was also nearby, but that would have to wait until this after business was completed.

The door slid open, and Viccini walked into his personal quarters. The room was large, and lavishly decorated with all manner of art, furs, and keepsakes, each worth a small fortune by themselves. He loved to be surrounded by symbols of his wealth, constantly reminded of his ongoing success and prosperity. He walked over to his favorite sofa and reclined on it. There was a bowl of exotic fruit laying nearby, and he picked one at random, waving his hand and telling the captain that he was ready. The wall in front of him blinked. Its cozy, dark wood appearance changing to a blank screen, which then became the vaguely familiar face of a man he had recently hired. The signal was encoded, and being bounced off of several communication relays, so the quality was grainy, and flickered in an unsightly manner, but it was a necessary precaution.

"Warren! My good friend, I see that you are still alive! This is most good!" Vicini greeted the fool, "I suspect, then, that your chore went well?"

The ape spit, slammed his fist on the wall, and answered, "Hell no it didn't 'go well'! There were twice as many fighters as you said there'd be, and I lost a man! That's gonna cost extra!"

Vicini's smile didn't waver, but his eyes shot daggers "You will get your agreed fee, and not a credit more my friend. If, however, you have some additional good news for Viccini, then perhaps I would be willing to add our agreed bonus to your pay. So, tell me, how is our friend Fox doing these days?"

Warren smirked, "Oh well, ol' Foxy boy had a bit of bad luck during the mission, and I'm afraid he didn't make it."

"Oh how terrible!," Vicini answered with mock sympathy, "You've dispatched him then? Do you have proof?"

"Well, no. I don't have his ear or anything," Warren shot back sarcastically, "We were kinda busy at the time."

Vicini's smile faded away, and he raised an eyebrow. "Are you positive McCloud is dead?," he asked, his tone strictly business.

"Oh yeah," the pirate confidently proclaimed, "last I saw, he was nothing but a hot streak burning up in Titania's atmo, and we leveled our hideout with his fighter inside, so even if he managed to survive the crash, he's got nowhere to go. Guy's dead by now either way."

He wasn't satisfied. This simpleton wasn't being honest with him, he knew it. "And what of his larger vessel? The carrier he uses as his base of operations. What did you do about that?"

"What are you talking about?" Warren asked, shortly, "He showed up in his fighter, nothing else. We didn't detect any larger vessels in the area."

Vicini sighed and rubbed his temples, "This is most unsettling. You will have your agreed fee for the mission when I receive my package, but Vicini is afraid he will have to wait until he has some manner of proof that Fox McCloud is dead before you receive your bonus. The drop location will be the same as before. Some of my best men will be there to make the exchange, so please do not try anything foolish. I would hate to jeopardize our...friendship."

"What?! You can't be serious! This is bullshi-"

With a wave of his hand, the screen cut out and became a cozy, dark wood wall again. Fox McCloud, dead? It seemed that today would be a good day indeed, assuming Warren could be trusted. No one crossed Viccini and lived, this was simply fact, and if Fox wasn't dead yet, he would be, soon enough. Still, he didn't like the feeling that there were loose ends to tie up, and if McCloud did survive, it could be problematic. The man had proven to have a certain knack at causing Viccini no end of trouble. He pondered what to do for a moment, then addressed the captain.

"Sir?" the captain responded over the com.

"Be a good man and get Horus on the line for Vicini," he said. Horus was one of his finest assets, and was an expert at gathering and seeding information throughout Lylat. Vicini had a certain need of his skills at the moment.

"Verry good sir," the captian responded, "I'll open an encoded channel immediately."

He waited a few moments before Horus's voice came over the com. There was no picture, there never was, but Viccini knew his voice. In fact, he had several security devices which analyzed, recorded, compared, and strictly monitored his voice patterns to assure it was him. Viccini had no idea what the man looked like, and according to his wide-spread connections and informants, it seemed no one did. He was a mystery, but he always came through, and Vicini knew he could rely on him so long as he paid whatever he asked for.

"It's been a while Vicini," Horus said, "I trust you have something interesting for me this time?"

"Vicini needs a favor from you today, and was wondering how much it would cost to have it done in a timely manner," he answered.

"What's the job?" Horus asked in his usual, no-nonsense tone.

"I need an anonymous tip sent to the Lylat News Station that Fox McCloud was involved in an attack on a high security CDF convoy over Titania. See to it that the convoy's cargo isn't known, and, if you could, discover whether or not McCloud is still among the living."

"Understood," Horus stated, flatly, "I assume you want your own involvement, as well as your employer's, covered up as well?"

It was a veiled threat. Black mail at its finest. It was astounding how much information this man was somehow privy to. "Yes, that would be for the best, thank you..." Vicini said, carefully keeping any sign of surprise or nervousness from showing.

"One point five million," Horus said.

Vicini gave a stained sigh, then answered, "Fine, fine! You will receive your payment in a few hours. When can I expect the results?"

There was a pause before Horus replied, "The tip as well as all pertinent data has been sent as specified, and LNS will be airing the story in place of their prime time scheduling. The CDF will not know until the story airs to prevent censoring. I will monitor the spread of this information to prevent any fallback on you or your affiliates. I believe this concludes out business. Until next time."

The transmission cut.

One thing he loved about Horus, despite his _exhorbantly_ high fees, was how strictly professional he was. Meticulously executed contracts, swift results, and absolutely no bullshit. Now, if Fox lived, and if he suspected he had been betrayed, then he would be far too busy with his own problems to come bothering Viccini, and if he was dead, well at least the CDF would be busy chasing his corpse and putting out fires while Vicini did conducted his affairs. Now the only loose ends were Warren and his men. He would likely have to be dealt with, but Viccini had known this from the start.

He reclined a moment longer, reflecting on what he would do after his client received the device, and Vicini received his reward, on the various affairs in which he had his hands, and on how splendid Fachina had looked today, then he slowly stood up, slapped his prosperously large stomach, and headed off toward the dining hall. Business always made him so hungry.


	9. Chapter 9

Wolf

Stars appeared in long streaks, slowing to small, sparkling dots as the wolfen coasted smoothly out of warp and back into regular space. He was returning to his team's base of operations on Venom after a long reconnaissance mission for the Cornerian Federation Fleet, or CFF. Unlike the CDF, which was basically just Lylat's police force, the CFF comprised the majority of Corneria's military forces. They usually gave out high paying contracts for mercenaries to handle anything they didn't want to waste thier own manpower on, and had hired him a few weeks ago to scout around certain areas outside of the boarders of Lylat space, looking for what, exactly, he had no clue. They'd given practically nothing as far as information about why he was out there, or even what to keep an eye out for. He had simply been told to "be on the lookout for anything out of the ordinary..." The only thing out there had been quiet, empty space, but they pay was damn good, so despite the overall tedium of the mission, it had been worthwhile. The credits had been transferred yesterday, and on top of the pay Leon's mission should have brought in, the team would have enough to sit comfortably for a good while. All there was left to do was head home, and get a drink. Wolf had recently gotten a hold of a bottle of Visirin, a liquor made using the extract of some rare vine that grows on aquas. He wasn't exactly a connoisseur, but what the hell, if it was what it was cracked up to be, it was worth trying. The drink was even more rare than the vine, so when he'd had the chance to get a hold of a bottle, he'd taken it.

His com chirped and he opened the channel. Probably just the Venom Space Authority wanting his clearance.

"This is the CDF cruiser Aurora, this area is currently under security level one status. All traffic to and from the planet's surface must be cleared by CDF authority before entry or exit of the system. Please transmit your ship ID sequence and personal data now," a young female voice demanded.

"What the hell is this?" Wolf answered, unamused, "This is Wolf O'Donnel! I just got back from a contract for the CFF. Why is Venom in security statis?"

"That information is on a need to know basis Mr. O'Donnel," a deeper, more authoritative voice came across the com, "I am Rear Admiral Osmond, and I am in command of the task force assigned to securing this area. I assure you that there is nothing to worry about, and if you would simply cooperate we will have you planet side in a matter of moments."

"Tch," wolf spat, transmitting the requested information, "Happy?"

He was answered by the female again. "Thank you Mr. O'Donnel, please proceed to Venom."

He didn't like how this looked. He'd set up shop of Venom to avoid the CDF. His name was cleared years ago, but they still rubbed him the wrong way, so he usually charged them double for their contracts out of spite. Without Starfox around, his team had their pick of all the choice missions in Lylat, and with Venom on the rise, it seemed like a good idea to make his base here. Wolf was in good with Governor Bowman, so things had been pretty steady here so far. Unfortunatly, Venom was no different from the other habitable worlds in the Lylat system, in that the central governing body was Corneria, but it was so far on the outskirts of the system, that it was practically independent of the Cornerian Federation, and up until this point Bowman's influences had kept it that way, so why were they suddenly gracing Venom with their presence?

He shook it off as he entered the atmosphere and set a course for base. One the way, he passed over Andoria, Venom's capitol city. It was impressive how quickly the world had developed over just three short years. Andoria was the planet's first metropolis, and had been carefully planned and overseen by the governor and backed with the wealth of Corneria, which had a vested interest in assuring the world developed in a 'peaceful manner.' Considering its rough history, it was understandable. Some of Lylat's greatest thinkers, engineers, and most prominent business owners had flocked to Venom after the Anglar war, seeking to lend their skills and stake their claims on the newly inhabitable world, and with them had come trade, a medley of culture, and, of course, the teeming masses of people wanting a fresh start on a new world. Even more impressive than its explosive growth was how efficiently Bowman had risen to the challenge of organizing what had seemed would sure to be chaos, confusion, and anarchy into a thriving hub of civilization out in the farthest reaches of the Lylat system.

The base appeard on the horizon not long after Andoria disappeared behind him, and soon enough he was pulling into the hanger, and docking his fighter next to Leon's. Panther and Krystal's fighters were gone. The two hadn't been getting along to well lately, and all thier bickering had been working on Wolf's nerves, so it was kind of a relief that they wouldn't be there to greet him. Who knows, maybe they had made up and gone out together...not really his problem either way.

He climbed out of his fighter and onto the adjacent catwalk, his boots clanking as he walked along, down the steps, and onto the open deck of the hanger. His maintenance crew had already gotten to work on his Wolfen's post-flight maintenance, and the chief mechanic, a short, stocky Aquan with a robotic right leg approached him with a greeting. His name was Bruce, and Wolf had gone to him for repairs for a long time before hiring him on as his maintenance officer here, so they went back a ways.

"Yo, O'Donnel," the man said, scratching at the unshaven stubble that covered his jaw with one hand and tapping a very large wrench against his shoulder with the other, "Welcome back n' all that. Just thought I'd let you know that there were a few CDF assholes poking around ere a few hours ago tryin' to pull some 'simple question' bullshit on me and my boys. We showed em the door o' course, but, ya know, some of my guys are a bit, eh, skittish when it comes to the authority types, ya get me?"

Bruce and his men were all A class mechanics and technicians, to be modest, but most of them had history. Either they were on the wrong side of the Lylat war, Oinkenie's rebellion, or used to be plain old thugs. Wolf had taken them in here at his base because of their skills, offered them a chance at something better, and for the most part, they'd made good of it. There had been a few problems here and there, but if Bruce didn't set them straight, Wolf did. None of them wanted to go back to what he'd found them as, and Wolf wasn't a patient man. A few examples had to be made, but for the most part they all either feared or respected him enough to stay in line, and out of trouble.

"What'd they want?" Wolf asked.

"Pff! How da fuck should I know? Said they wanted to talk to Leon and they asked a few questions, but we gave em da boot before they could say much else. They didn't put up of much of a fuss though. Heh, guess they didn't like da look a' ol' Ulysses 'ere," He said, referring to his wrench. It was old, battered, and over-sized, but Bruce seemed to like carrying it around as a means of 'positive reinforcement' for his crew.

Wolf grinned. Served the CDF right for showing up uninvited. "Fine," he said, "I'll look into it. It's probably nothing."

Bruce shrugged and started for the Wolfen, tapping his wrench as he went. "Whatever you say Boss, just though I'd let ya know" he said, turning his attention toward his subordinates.

When Wolf walked through the door to the squadron's 'executive suit' he found Leon, slouched down on the couch watching something on the vid that looked like news. There was a young Cornerian girl talking...something about Titania. "What's up Wolf?" he grumbled, not looking to see if it was actually him.

Wolf grunted back, walking over to the fridge. He'd hidden his bottle of Visirin in the back so the other bums wouldn't drink it before he got back, usually did the trick. He move a few bottles out of the way, and felt around behind a container that had been in there since before he'd left. He wasn't sure what was in there, but it didn't look like it had been touched, so it was safe to assume his booze was still in its hiding place behind...he didn't feel anything. He moved the container out of the way, but the bottle wasn't there.

He stared at the empty place where it should have been for a few seconds before he turned to Leon. "You know anything about a bottle stashed in the back of the fridge?" He asked accusingly.

"Tall one? Wierd fish logo?" he answered, still watching the news.

"Yeah."

"Panther found it a few days ago. Said it was called visamin, or viasin, or-"

"Visirin," Wolf interjected, teeth gritted.

"Yeah, visirin, that was it," Leon continued, turning a single reptilian eye Wolf's way, "Said it was pretty rare stuff, and wanted to share it with Krystal. Heh, he keeps trying, but the girl keeps giving him the cold shoulder. Idiot needs to wise up. Anyway, that was about two days ago, so the stuff is long gone. Guess it was yours, huh?"

Wolf slammed a glass down and filled it with the first bottle he saw. Harkim. It went down pretty smooth, and warmed as it hit his gut. "He owes me five hundred credits," he growled, leaning against the nearby wall and taking another swallow "So, how'd your contract go? Any problems?"

"Tch, yeah there was _one_ problem. That damn prick Peppy pulled the job and gave it to someone else!" Leon said, eyes front again.

"What?" Wolf barked, "Who?"

"That featherbrained IDIOT, Falco Lombardi," Leon hissed, "my only consolation is that he botched it! Here, listen to this, they've been playing it all day."

Wolf stared paying attention to what Leon was watching. The Cornerian girl had been talking about Titania, right?

"-The CDF has refused to answer questions involving the incident above the desert world, where a known military research staion is located just below the world's northern pole. It was here that over a decade ago Andross conducted some of his most notorious Bio-Weapon research and experimentation, resulting in abominations and horrors which he would later use against the brave men of the CFF, near the end of the conflict. What the Cornerian government is doing there now, none can say. Even more curious is the military convoy which was hijacked moments before arriving at its intended destination on the station. We have received no information on what the convoy was intended to have delivered, but Greggory Cromwell, director of the Cornerian Defence Force, stated only moments ago that the contents of the convoy 'is top secret, and any parties involved in the dissemination of this information will be harshly dealt with.'

"It is unclear at this point what the significance of this attack on the CDF could be, but one shocking element, which LNS received from an annonymous tip, was that Fox McCloud, former leader of the once renowned StarFox team, may have been involved in the incident. Wreckage of his fighter, a SpaceDynamics multi-role fighter known as the Arwing, was discovered in what was left of an old mining station which is believed to be the staging point from wich the hijackers launched their attack. It is said that Fox lead the attack, but was shot down during the conflict by Falco Lombardi, also a former member of the mercenary team StarFox, who had been hired by Cornaira to escort the convoy. Lombardi is currently being held for unknown reasons on the planet's surface, along with his wingmate Katt Monroe. It is specualted that Lombardi may be under suspicion of conspiring with McCloud to hijack the convoy, based on their history together in team StarFox, but the actual reason for his detainment is still unknown..."

Wolf grunted. Fox involved in something like this? It didn't seem likely, but, then again, he knew better than most what a man is capable of under the right circumstances. One thing was certain though, "Seems like Fox's has gotten himself into a bit of bind," He said.

"If he's even alive," Leon said with a smile, "his fighter took a nose dive into the sand, and an ion storm blasted the area it crashed into a few hours later. I'm betting he's dead."

Wolf didn't return Leon's good humor. To be honest, he didn't like that Fox might have gotten mixed up in this. It wasn't a big deal if he did or not, but he'd always thought...well, that James' boy was better than that. As much of a pain in the ass as the McClouds had been to Wolf, he couldn't help but respect them. He took another swallow of his drink, emptying the glass. If it was true, and he wasn't dead, then Fox was going to have a bounty on his head soon, and if it was big enough, StarWolf would be on the job. They would be hunting Fox. It seemed like only yesterday that the tables were turned.

Leon frowned, waving at the vid and saying, "Why so glum? This is great! That self-righteous goody goody bastard is either dead or on the lamb! Can you imagine, US getting to hunt HIM? I might even get an excuse to take a crack at Lombardi for stealing my contract!" Leon smiled coldly as he said the last bit. He'd always hated that bird. They had some kind of history about a gang, or something, but Wolf hadn't bothered to look into it. If it was ever important, he would tell Leon to fill him in.

A thought occurred to him as he stood there, watching the news caster repeat what little information she had on what had happened. They said they had detained Falco because he was associated with Fox _and_ the hijacked convoy, meaning he was a suspect, but the CDF was never satisfied with one suspect, they would probably be going after everyone even slightly involved with the convoy, and that meant Leon as well. He was the one they had originally offered the contract to and then fired, so it wasn't a poor assumption that they would suspect him as well. On top of that, Bruce said the CDF had already been sniffing around asking questions.

"Yo, Leon," Wolf said, "they're probably gonna make you a suspect in this as well."

"What?" Leon barked, springing up from the couch, "What the hell did I do?"

"Just trust me, Bruce said we've already had a visit from the CDF, and they've got the whole planet under surveillance. I don't like the way this is going. Where are Panther and Krystal? I want them back here as soon as possible."

"Damn CDF pricks," Leon snarled indignantly before answering Wolf. He gestured toward the news again and said "Krystal took off as soon as she saw this, and Panther chased after her like an idiot."

"Get a hold of them, and get them back here," Wolf said, making for the door, "Don't leave the base until I get back, I need you to lay low for a little while."

"Where are you going?" Leon asked.

Wolf answered over his shoulder as he walked back toward the hanger, "I'm going to talk to Bowman, see if he can clear your name."

Leon blinked a few times, then nodded. "Oh, yeah, that's a good idea," he said, "thanks Wolf!"

He didn't reply, just kept walking toward his fighter. This whole thing was looking to be one big mess...Fox, what the hell were you thinking?


	10. Chapter 10

Alive

He was drifting. There was no sense of time, or place, or...anything. He was nowhere, and no one. But there were voices, familiar, but forgotten until now, like echoes coming across a great distance.

"...hahaha, you always were better at this game... (A childhood friend)...C'mon Fox! We're gonna be late!... (Bill)...The academy? (They had signed up together) You really think we'd make it?..."

(They were accepted, and had stood out)

"..._You have all been selected, to be among the finest soldiers_..."

(The Cornerian Military Academy. It seemed like so long ago)

"..._You will address me as Gunnery Sergeant..._ (he had trained hard back then)..._Move it McCloud! Get past that line!..._ (trained to be stronger, move faster, think faster)_...Move forward! Watch your lines of fire!..._ (he had trained to be the best, like his father)_"_

"..._Fox, I just want you to know_... (Father)..._I'm proud of you_..."

(Everything had been going so well)

"..._I'm so sorry Fox. Your dad_... (until that day. He could never forget that day)..._James, he didn't make it_..."

Fox groaned, waking himself.

"Oh? Waking up are you? That's good. You were dead for a minute there."

"Who...?"

"Well, I'm not so much of a 'who' as a 'what', but my name is Orian. I just saved your life, you know."

Fox opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but his head spun dizzyingly, and he collapsed back onto whatever he was lying on. He was vaguely aware that his vac suit, as well as most of the rest of his clothes, save his trousers, was gone. He squinted at his surroundings, but everything was a blur, just vague shapes and colors. Something was hanging over him, and there were a few blurs moving around that he couldn't quite make out. Last he remembered he was in a hell of a lot of pain, probably dieing. He ran a hand along his side where the worm had gotten him, but there was no hole, no stitches, nothing save fur, skin, and an acceptable number ribs beneath that.

"Ah yes, movement is a great idea, considering most of your internal organs had been partially liquefied not long ago," a sarcastic male voice taunted from seemingly nowhere in particular, "It was quite a feat stabilizing your vitals and reconstructing the damaged tissue, you know, especially considering my limited functionality. I'm very proud of my patchwork!"

He tried rubbing his eyes, but they still wouldn't clear. "I can't see..." he murmured.

"Your body underwent a great deal of trauma, so you're going to need to take time to recover. I'm sure your vision will return to normal soon. In the meantime you're safe here."

"And where," Fox paused to clear his throat, "where is 'here' exactly?"

"You're in my little chunk of hell," the voice chuckled, "what else is there to know? By the way, I've introduced myself, so it's rude of you not to do the same. My current data identifies you to within roughly a ninety percent match of James McCloud, though there are certain anomalies. Are you James, or are you of some relation to him?"

Fox lay silently for a moment, confused, "James? I'm Fox, Fox McCloud. James McCloud was my father. Was he here? How did you know him?"

"Oh, I didn't, and no, he wasn't. His name and data appeared in my database twenty or so years ago. He, along with a few others were added to a security roster, and given rather high level clearances. Who they were, and what they were doing, I have no idea. You see, I'm still connected to the network through my ansible, but most of my systems were irreparably damaged or lost a long time ago, so-"

"You're a computer," Fox stated. That much was obvious by the way he talked, but he couldn't tell where its voice was coming from.

"Of sorts," Orian replied.

"That structure," Fox thought aloud, "am I inside of it?"

"Oh, but you are _clever_, aren't you?" the computer chided, "You are inside of roughly a quarter of the aft section of what WAS one of the most advanced star faring vessels of its time, though that was quite some time ago, and you are the first guest I've had in approximately two million years! Isn't that great? I've got to admit I was feeling SO lonely before you showed up!" Orian laughed.

Fox's eyes were beginning to clear. Everything was still a bit blurry, but he could see well enough to make out what was in front of him. A metal frame hung over him, with a number of arm-like appendages and devices attached, and the things moving around him looked to be grey, teardrop-shaped, hovering robots. They moved about busily, coming and going, but doing what, exactly, he had no idea. One looked like it was headed straight for a wall, but when it reached it, the wall rippled around the robot, and it passed through the solid material like it wasn't even there. He stared for a moment before shaking off his amazement, and continued to look around. He was lying on a padded table in the middle of what looked like an infirmary. He sat up, slowly this time, hanging his legs over the side of the bench and leaning forward on his elbows.

"So let me see if I've got this," he said, "You're a computer in what's left of a ship, buried on Titania for God knows how long, and somehow you know about my father?"

"Well, more or less. I don't really know anything about him, just that he had clearance enough to allow admittance. The only reason I was able to allow you to enter is because my systems mistook you or him. Lucky, eh? As for how long I've been here, I'm not even sure, but I've been aware of the last two million years, give or take a millennium or so. You see, whatever happened to my vessel, it caused me to lose the vast majority of my systems and data. What you now find yourself in is a large piece of the ship I once served in, which survived entry into this world's atmosphere and the resulting impact. It probably took several decades for what remained of my automated repair systems to recover this piece of debris to the state in which you now see it...or...um, WILL see it when your sight returns. Anyway, I'm not sure how long it took me to piece myself back together from what remained of my mainframe, salvaged sub systems, and strands of erroneous data, but I imagine it took quite some time. It's a miracle that I'm here at all!"

"So, if my father was never here, then how did he get clearance?" Fox pressed.

"As I tried to explain earlier, my ansible system is still functioning...er, somewhat anyway, so I occasionally receive incoming data from...somewhere."

"Somewhere? So you don't know where these transmissions come from?"

"No," Orian answered, "I'm sure I did at one point, but, as I've stated, that data has been lost. I've tried to communicate to the outside several times during my incarceration here, but as it turns out, I can only receive communications and can't actually send anything back."

Fox thought for a moment, and then asked another question. "You said you receive data through an 'ansible'? I've never heard of that."

"Oh? Well I suppose this area of space is still somewhat primitive," Orian said, "My ansible is a communications system, among other things. It sends and receives data instantaneously to and from anywhere in the galaxy. This allows for constant, accurate information on ship locations, as well as instant communication to and from any point in space. It's actually where I got my name! Omni-science Relativity, Ansible Inelegance Network, or O-R-A-I-N. Just switch the A and the I, and there you have it! Pretty clever if I do say so myself!"

"You seem kind of odd for a computer," Fox said, "and where is your voice coming from? I can't place it."

"Its not really coming from anywhere in particular," Orian answered, "I took the liberty of installing all the necessary nanoscopic implants for you to be compatible with my systems while you were 'under the knife,' so to speak."

"You did WHAT?" Fox recoiled.

"Implants," came Orian's calm answer, "tiny nanomachines attached to the neurons of your cerebral cortex which allow you to effortlessly interact with my systems. You're not _hearing_ my voice, its being transmitted through the nanomachines and into your brain. Interesting, huh?"

"Interesting?" Fox yelled, trying to get up, but succumbing to another dizzy spell, "Get them out. Whatever you did to get them in, do it again, but this time, take them out!"

"Can't."

Fox took a deep breath, and let it out nice and slow, trying to calm himself. "Why not?" he growled.

"You see," Orian explained, "once the nanomachines become active, they seamlessly integrate themselves into the neurons they are attached to. Removing them would be like tearing a piece of each neuron off, and that would either kill you or leave you brain dead for obvious reasons. Either way, you wouldn't be of much use to me anymore."

Fox was uncomfortable, to say the least, with the idea that some strange computer had implanted a bunch of tiny machines in his brain, and on top of recent events, it was nearly maddening. He was alive, though, so things weren't all bad.

"So," he started when he felt more at ease, "what happens now? Am I stuck in here, or can I go?"

"Oh, you're not _stuck_," Orian answered, "I can let you out at any time."

Fox gave a relieved grunt, and got to his feet. His head was still swimming a bit, but he could walk. "Good then," he said, "It's been nice meeting you Orian, but I think the storm should have passed by now, so if you don't mind giving me back my stuff, I'm gonna be on my way."

"Oh no, I'm not going to let you leave just yet," Orian stated, "I'm in need of your assistance."

"For the love of God," he groaned, shoulders slumped, "what do you want?"

"The same thing you do. I want to leave this place, and I can't do so on my own. You're the first person I've been allowed to let enter in the entire time I've been here, mistake or not. Can you even imagine what that's like, to be here by yourself for two MILLION years? No, I don't suppose you're capable of perceiving that kind of time span, but let me assure you I'm more than ready to move on."

"Okay, but what am I supposed to do about that?"

"Thought you'd never ask!," Orian continued, "The reason I can't leave here is because I'm tied into what's left of this ship's systems, and without the full use of my ansible, I can't call for help, even assuming what's left of my programming is capable of communicating with the rest of the network without it seeing me as an error, or worse, a virus! I'm software, so I have no means of just walking out. In order to leave, I would need a new vessel to upload my data, and carry me."

"So you're like a fish stuck in a pond, and you need a fishbowl to carry you out," Fox summarized, "What do you need? What's your fishbowl?"

"You are!" Orian announced, sounding quite proud of himself, "With your implants, I'm able to upload myself onto the nanomachines in your brain. They're small, but if I discard all of my redundant and corrupted data, I would only occupy about ten percent of their total data capacity. I would then travel with and assist you wherever you go! YOU would be my new vessel!"

Fox wasn't nearly as excited about the idea, but then again, since he already had these 'implants,' he might as well consider it. "I'm not sure I like the idea of having you in my head. What would I get out of it?" he asked.

"Oh, the benefits of having an advanced A.I. at your disposal everywhere you go would be endless!" Orian answered enthusiastically, "and I can assure you I would be incapable of disobeying your orders once integrated with your nanomachines. Any and all of my functions would be at your disposal!"

"Why didn't your just upload yourself while I was unconscious?" Fox asked, "What's even stopping you from doing it now?"

Orian chuckled, "that's the beauty of it! I need your consent, or the nanomachines will deny my access. They are a part of you now, like a brand new organ. They listen only to you, and once I'm uploaded onto them, so will I!"

"And you're okay with that?"

"More than okay!" Orian burst, "I would be free! Free to wander the stars! I would get to go everywhere you go, see everything you see! I would gladly offer you my assistance in exchange for a chance to get out of this place! It could be eons before another person _happens_ across me who my programming will allow me to admit, and I've done more than my share of waiting already."

"What if I refuse?"

"Then I keep you hear for the rest of you life," Orian answered with a more threatening tone, "I'm not capable of stopping the aging process, but I assure you I can slow it enough to make sure you're here for a long, LONG time. After all, if I can't have my freedom from this place, then why should you? Then I will at least have company for as long as I can keep you alive."

The computer paused a moment then continued with sincerity, "I really don't want it to come to that. It wouldn't help either of us very much, you know? I mean, you do owe me. I saved your life!"

"I don't really have a choice, huh?" Fox said. He didn't like being threatened, but he understood where the computer was coming from. He couldn't imagine being stuck somewhere for so long. He thought it over for a moment, then grudgingly nodded. "Alright, Orian, but I'd better not end up regretting this."

"You won't! I promise!" Orian shouted gleefully, "Now this will only take a second, and I'm not going to say it will be an altogether pleasant experience, but I swear it will be well worth it. Please, lie down on the table."

Fox took his advice and hopped back onto the table, laying flat. He didn't know what to expect, so he was a little tense. At first, nothing happened, but then he became aware of a growing buzz behind his eyes. It grew stronger quickly, causing his ears to ring, and his already blurry sight to shake. Soon his entire world was consumed by the ringing buzz. He gritted his teeth, and squeezed his eyes shut against it all, gripping his head with both hands.

And then it was over. Fox let go of his head and relaxed, letting out the breath he just realized he'd been holding. When he opened his eyes again he was surprised to find that they had completely cleared, and his head was no longer swimming. The tear-shaped robots had all stopped moving, and now hovered in place, motionlessly.

"Orian?" he called, "did it work?"

"Upload successful! It's much roomier in here than I thought!" Orian's voice came back, same as before, "Haha! I can't wait to finally be gone from here! Where should we go first? Do you have a ship? Are there other people on board?"

"Orian..." Fox tried to interject.

"The stars! I don't even remember what they're like! When can we be star born? I-"

"Orian!" Fox came again, more forceful this time.

"Oh, yes, sorry. What is it Fox?"

"My ship is hiding in the sand ring, and I have no way of signaling it. Is there any way we can send a transmission from here?"

"Well, no," Orian answered, "even if your ship had an ansible, the one here can't send outgoing transmissions, remember? Oh, and, uh, by the way, you're probably going to be angry when I tell you why, but we need to evacuate this ship and its immediate vicinity as soon as possible."

"Why?" Fox asked, almost positive he wasn't going to like what he was about to hear.

"The act of removing a vessel's A.I. is the last act in protocol by a ship's commander, after evacuation of all other crewmembers and a few other steps, in abandoning ship, which triggers a self-destruct sequence, intended to keep the vessel out of enemy hands. I promise you if I was able to bypass this protocol, I would have, but the most my programming would allow was for a five minute delay before the sequence began."

"You said I wouldn't regret this," Fox said through gritted teeth.

"Sorry," Orian said, sounding embarrassed, "but I was afraid you would refuse if I told you before. In any event, you should really start moving."

"Move where?" Fox yelled, "I don't know where the hell I am, much less where the damn exit is!"

"This way," Orian answered, as map of the ship appearing in the air in front of fox. The ship was enormous, but most of the map was colored red. A small segment was white, with a blue, flashing dot remaining stationary in a room labeled 'infirmary'. "The dot is you," Orian continued, "the red areas are missing or destroyed parts of the ship," a blue line traced a path from the blue dot, to what appeared to be an exit."

Fox wasted no time, and started to sprint along the outlined path, the map remaining just in front of him as he went. "How are you doing that?" he asked as he ran, the dot tracing his movement. He was running through several well light corridors.

"What, the map? I'm manipulating the portion of your brain that governs vision to cause you to perceive an object that isn't actually there," Orian returned as they rounded a corner.

"I thought you said you needed my consent for that kind of thing?" Fox shouted back angrily. He passed several doors, ramps, and other corridors leading in all directions as he ran. Whatever this place was, it was enormous.

"I did, and you gave it, albeit subconsciously. You wanted me to show you the way out, and I am. It isn't far; the infirmary you were in was close to the hull. Had to get you there in a hurry, you know."

"Fine," Fox conceded, "how long do I have after the self-destruct sequence starts?"

"About sixty seconds."

"That's it?"

"It's plenty of time under normal circumstances," Orian explained, "The captain and his bridge crew would upload the ship's A.I., evacuate to the nearby transference chamber, and be transferred via tachyon pulse though the ansible to a pre-determined receiving station, normally the ship's base of operations or maintenance port."

"Fascinating..." Fox remarked, snidely. The map led him on for a few more yards before it appeared to be charging him headlong into a very sturdy looking wall.

"Orian...that's a wall." Fox stated, concerned about his welfare, but keeping his up his sprint none the less.

"Don't worry," Orian assured, "That's the hull, you'll pass right through it."

"You're sure?" Fox shouted, the wall coming up fast. Before Orian could answer him, he was at the wall. He braced himself as best he could without breaking stride, and threw himself against the-

Fox burst headlong into the dark, domed structure of the archeological dig sight. Thrown completely off balance, he tripped, skidded off the floor, and slammed into what he assumed was a large crate. He couldn't actually see what it was, because it was pitch black in the dome, and he didn't have his flashlight anymore. He got to his feet holding his sides, and gasping to regain the breath that had just been violently smashed out of his lungs.

"How...how much time do I…have?" He asked between gasps.

"Three," Orian answered, "four if you include the additional sixty seconds after the-"

"Four minutes, got it," Fox cut in. He needed to get clear of this place, and fast, but it wouldn't matter if he couldn't contact the Great Fox. He would just die in the desert…The levicraft! It should still be sitting outside the dome! He began to move in the direction of the exit when something occurred to him. The worms, they might still be around. "Damn!" he cursed quietly, wishing he had his blaster.

"Is there a problem?" Orian asked.

"The worms, they could still be in here," Fox answered.

"Unlikely, they never come this far up to the surface unless there is a storm. Believe me. I've had plenty of time to study them. We should be perfectly safe. Now, according to my last scan of the area before leaving the ship, the layout of this facility should be close to this." As he finished speaking, an illuminated grid spread out in all directions, following the curvature of the dome, and outlining everything that lay within. The ground was shown with topographical lines to indicate elevation, and obstructions, and at the far end, the exit was illuminated.

"I'm not actually seeing this, am I?" Fox asked.

"No," Orian answered, sounding pleased with himself, "this is merely a three dimensional mapping of this facility superimposed over what you are actually seeing. I can't make your eyes take in light that isn't there, but this should work fine. Can we please leave now?"

"Huh," Fox grunted as he started for the exit at a run. This computer was proving useful so far. He could feel the air moving at his back as he passed though the door, and into the garage area. The large main door would be just in front of him. He felt around for the switch, and threw it. I responded faster than before, but it still didn't open all the way. He slipped though and out into the open desert of Titania. The heat hit him like a brick wall as he stepped out into the sun. He was, however, happy to see that the levicraft hovered in front of the structure, right where he'd left it. He leapt into the driver's seat, threw the throttle forward, and raced out into the desert.

"Orian, how much time?" he asked as the craft put distance between them and the dome.

"One minute, twelve seconds," Orian said, sounding concerned, "can this vehicle travel any faster?"

"Why? How big is this explosion going to be?" Fox asked as the levicraft flew away from the ever-shrinking dome.

"The blast radius should bee about five kilometers…give or take. Um, sixty seconds."

Fox's ears drooped and his shoulders slumped. The throttle was already all the way forward. He locked himself into his seat, gripped the wheel with white knuckles, and continued to race away from the dome. This was going to be close…this was going to damn close!

"Thirty seconds"

The levicraft kicked up sand as it charged forward, hot desert air blowing fiercely in Fox's face. At its current speed, it should have covered about three kilometers by now…four kilometers.

"Ten seconds!"

He counted the remaining seconds in his head. 9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1

The whole world seemed to shudder violently for a brief moment as a violent, deafening impact went off behind him. Fox looked back in time to see what looked like a wall of sand and debris, thrown into the air by the blast, hurtling in all directions. Before he knew what to do, it overtook him. Both him and the levicraft were thrown like rag dolls as the force of the explosion carried him away.


	11. Chapter 11

**Still Alive**

The endless desert of Titania rushed by beneath Captain Roy Mayson's interceptor as if flew out in response to a large disturbance. About twenty minutes ago, sensors had detected a massive explosion in the desert south of the research facility, so command had decided to send one of their two available fighters to check it out. Roy had volunteered so his wing mate, Lieutenant Jason Lambaster, the only other pilot actually stationed here on Titania, could catch a breather. The base was on high alert ever since that fiasco with the hijacked convoy, and the whole place was swarming with CDF, and the two of them had been on constant patrols since the ion storm had cleared. They were both beat, but Jason was worse off, being sick and all. Besides all that, Roy didn't mind the patrols much, truth be told. It was an excuse to get away from all the commotion. The CDF were inspecting everything and everyone. Asking questions, making threats, whatever that convoy had been carrying, it must have been important to stir up this much trouble.

Sleek and deadly, the new model interceptors were the fastest ships in the Cornerian arsenal, so it wasn't long before he was approaching the sight of the explosion. At a few miles out, flakes of ash carried on the wind blew past the canopy. When the crater came into view, the sheer size of it caused his jaw to drop. Debris was flung in an enormous radius around a crater several kilometers wide. Smoke billowed out into the air to form dark, black clouds, and airborne ash rained down from them like black snow, carpeting the desert sands beneath.

Roy flicked his com on and hailed the research station, "Command, come in command."

"We read you," came command's answer, "Have you identified the source of the explosion?"

"Negative, nothing here but debris and one hell of a big hole. No sign of a source, and I'm not seeing anything alive down…wait a second, I think I see something. It looks like some kind of wreck," Roy said as something near the edge of the blast ring caught his eye, "I'm going in for a closer look."

"Affirmative, proceed with caution, and notify us of any significant findings, then secure the area for a proper investigation, Command out."

Roy brought his interceptor down about twenty yards from the wreck. He popped the cockpit, and hopped down. The layer of soot and sand shifted beneath his feet as he made his way toward it, pistol drawn and armed. If there was a levicraft, chances were there was someone driving it. The vehicle was overturned, so the levicoils pointed straight up into the air, a small layer of ash piled on top. It was partially buried beneath the sand, but what stuck out was battered, likely by large rocks and other heavy debris from the explosion. It was surprising that it had survived at all. He kept a safe distance, blaster at the ready, as he circled the overturned craft slowly. When he rounded the other side, he stopped. There was a hole that led beneath the levicraft, the sand and ash around it still shifting downward, almost as if someone had-

A sudden noise caused Roy to turn quickly, just in time to see someone burst out of the sand behind him. Before he could react, there was a sharp pain as whoever it was struck him with something heavy. The world went black as Roy fell forward, unconscious.

. . .

Fox finished zipping up the pilot's flight suit, and holstered the man's pistol, the piece of the levicraft's steering column that he had incapacitated the man with lying in the sand at his feet. He was a bit sore from the rough toss, and his shoulder hurt from landing on it, but aside from a few other minor cuts and bruises, Fox was fine. The levicraft had landed on top of him, shielding him from the flying debris. It was lucky that he had wound up in the passenger area, or he probably would have been crushed, rather than saved by it. As for the pilot, after Fox had relieved him of his weapon and clothes, he had dragged him over to the wrecked craft, and leaned him against it. He took a moment to rifle through the pockets of the flight suit for anything interesting, and in one he found a small tracking beacon, shaped like a small pill. It was likely for use as a distress beacon for a downed pilot. He rolled it around in his hand for a moment, thinking to himself as he walked toward the nearby interceptor. The research facility would likely send out a search party for the pilot when he failed to report in, but that would take a few hours just to get started. Fox looked up at the black clouds spreading in all directions from what had not long ago been the domed archeological sight. The ash drifted down to blanket everything in a bleak, uniform layer of black soot. It would be difficult to find anyone in this mess, and without any way of contacting his allies, the guy's odds didn't look too good.

Fox climbed into the cockpit and took a moment to look over its instruments before firing the fighter up. It was a newer model, much better than that outdated piece of slag he'd crashed in. Based on its forward sweeping wings, and talon-shaped cockpit, he was able to identify it as the CornAirSpace I/M-1500. It was top of the line, with the most recent G-diffuser, weapons, and thrust systems. CornAirSpace always made good spacecraft, but until recently they had focused on larger ships, being Corneria's chief ship building contract. They had only recently forayed into smaller fighters, but they were already competing with SpaceDynamics, the corporation behind the Arwing.

The fighter began to rise, and the cockpit started to close. Before it did, fox activated the pilot's beacon, and tossed it out into the sand. Once the cockpit sealed, he pushed the throttle forward, pulled back on the stick, and made for space. In a moment, the ground fell away, and the interceptor broke through the black clouds, exposing the sky beyond them.

"Finally!" Orian exclaimed gleefully, "I can't wait to star born! It's been so long!"

"Right," Fox said, "well first thing's first, we need to contact Rob and get his location. We're gonna have to meet up, and get the hell out of dodge as fast as possible."

"Oh? Are we in some sort of trouble?" Orian asked.

"You can catch up later, for now we need to just focus on getting out of here," Fox stated. He set the com to the pre-determined frequency and sent out a ping. It was returned quickly, and he opened up a channel.

"Rob, this is Fox, I need your location," he said, Titania shrinking away beneath him.

"Roger, transmitting coordinates," Rob's voice came across the com, "Fox, be aware that a CDF cruiser is moving in on your location."

"Already?" Fox said, "I was hoping it would take them a little longer to figure it out…" Apparently they had seen that the pilot's distress beacon was in one place, and his interceptor was in another, and had put two and two together. It was bound to happen, but he didn't think they'd be so damn quick off the mark. He probably could have gotten farther if he hadn't activated the beacon back there, but leaving the guy to die didn't sit right with him.

"Rob, hurry up and get the warp drives warmed up, set a course for the Z nebula, then Sargasso, and have the hanger ready for a 'scoop' maneuver, we don't have time for regular docking protocols."

"Affirmative, I have a lock on your position, bringing Great Fox to maximum trust."

"Who's Rob?" Orian asked, "A member of your crew?"

"He's a navigation robot, and an old friend of mine, now stop asking questions. Do you have some sort of stand-by mode or something? I need to concentrate."

"Well, no, but I can refrain from speaking to you unless called upon. Should I make this my default protocol?"

"Please."

Ahead in the distance, Fox saw the Great fox burst free of Titania's ring, flinging dust into space as it went. Rather than moving toward him so he could dock, the ship was moving _away_ at top speed, making for open space. Fox set a parallel course, and pushed the throttle to max. At the same moment, a voice came over the com.

"Fox McCloud, this is Commander Pliker of the CDF! Cut your engines, and surrender yourself and that stolen interceptor, or we will be forced fire on both you, and your fleeing carrier. You have until we come within firing range to comply."

Fox gritted his teeth. They knew who he was…It took him half a heartbeat to spot the Cornerian heavy cruiser, flanked by two swift assault frigates, bearing down on him from the direction of the gate. They could outrun the Cruiser, but the frigates were a different story. He estimated less than two minutes at best before they closed to within firing range. Fox's fighter gained quickly on the accelerating Great Fox, coming up beside it after only a few seconds. Once he'd passed it, he brought his interceptor in front of the starboard side docking bay, and slowed to match the larger ship's speed as bay's hangar door slid slowly open. He only needed enough clearance to get his ship through…

"This is your last warning McCloud! Cut you engines NOW!"

Fox looked back at the opening hangar and smiled. "If you insist," He said, pulling the throttle back to zero. The Great Fox continued to power forward, and the fighter was engulfed by the now open bay doors. As soon as he was safely inside, the doors reversed direction and began to close.

"Rob, get us out of here!" Fox shouted, still using the interceptor's com.

"Roger, accelerating to warp now," Rob responded, just as the hangar doors slammed shut.

The two assault frigates closed quickly, but before they could get close enough to fire, the Great Fox's engines flared brightly, the ship rocketed forward, and an instant later, was gone, a spark of light hitting warp in the far distance of space.

There was a pause, the ship shook roughly for a few moments, and then nothing but the steady hum of warp travel. Fox let out a relieved sigh as he taxied his newly acquired interceptor into one of the MagLock stations, its two parallel arms locking into position on either side to secure the fighter. 'Dock Complete' appeared on the heads up display, and he killed the main power, and the interceptor rocked slightly as its weight was caught by the MagLock.

He sat in the cockpit for a moment, thinking. A lot had happened over the last forty-eight hours. He'd assisted in attacking a government convoy, which the CDF had _somehow_ discovered his involvement in, uncovered some sort of archeological dig with ties to Andross as well as the ship they were excavating. Along with the ship, there was Orian, who, strangely enough, had some sort of information about Fox's father. Was it all connected? If so, then how? What was this project, and why was information from it transmitted to a two million year old wreck?

"Orian," Fox said, "Tell me whatever you can about James McCloud. I want to know everything.

"Hm?" Orian answered, "I've already told you what I know. He was just a name added to a security roster. I don't know anything else about him, I'm afraid."

"Just tell me anything," Fox pressed, "Exactly how long ago did you receive the roster?"

"Twenty-four years, four months, three days, exactly. Does that help?"

Fox though back. He was thirty-two now, so that would have made him about eight years old. He had been in school, living with his mother on Papetoon…before she got sick. Back then his father had still been in the CFF. He visited often, but for the most part, was never around. He was always busy with something, but that was a long time ago, so the details where hazy.

"Were there any other names on this roster?" Fox asked after a moment.

"Of course, it wouldn't be much of a roster with just one name, now would it?"

"What were they," he asked patiently.

"Let's see, the roster reads as follows:"

Orian displayed the information in front of Fox, the letters simply appearing in the air.

SYSTEM'S UPDATE, NEW PERSONNEL GENETIC SEQUENCING ADDED, CLEARANCE LEVEL/PRIORITY ONE.

RODDIK NEWMAN

MICHAEL HOLLS

JAMES MCCLOUD

SIRUS VEKKAR

HARRY ESLINGER

VIVIAN HARE

BELTINO TOAD

ANDROSS OIKONNY

LINDA PETRIGE

DONNOVAN REDING

"What the hell…?" Fox said, confused. The list went on and on, the majority of the names meaning nothing, but in the first eight alone he had recognized several. There was his father, of course, but also Vekkar, from the recordings in the bunker. Vivian Hare was Peppy's wife, if he remembered right; Beltino, Slippy's father; and Andross... Andross had been involved with this, whatever it was. It made sense when he thought about it. At the time, he hadn't been exiled yet, and was one of Corneria's top scientists. Beltino was, and still is, one of the greatest engineers of his time. He didn't know much about Vivian other than her relation to Peppy, and he knew next to nothing about Vekkar, but still, he had a few leads.

"Do you know anything about why these people were added to this roster, or what the roster was for?" he asked.

"Little and less, I'm sorry to say," Orian said, "but the purpose of the roster was simple. The people listed had their genetic information added to the network's list of personnel, and were given high security status to allow admittance to any and all facilities within the system."

"Network?" Fox went on, "What network are you talking about?"

"I'm sorry, but all I remember is that it's the same network I was once a part of."

"You seemed to know a whole hell of a lot more earlier, Orian," Fox probed.

Orian sighed, "About my former vessel and ITS systems, yes. Outside of that, most of my data was lost…you don't trust me?"

Fox grunted. "Trust you or not, I guess I'm stuck with you," he mumbled, popping the canopy, and jumping out onto the catwalk.

"True," Orian chided, "so, where to form here Captain?"

"I'm heading up to the bridge," Fox stated, footsteps echoing across the mostly empty hanger. It would be an hour or so before they arrived at the Z nebula, and at least that long to warp form there to Sargasso. Then he could contact Viccini and get his credits. "I want to get to the bottom of all this, but for now I need money. I just completed a contract, and I intend to collect."


	12. Chapter 12

**Falco**

Falco sat in the dimly light cell, slumped down on an uncomfortable rack while he waited to be 'debriefed'. They had arrested him and Katt shortly after the storm had cleared. A CDF cruiser had shown up with some prick named Pliker, apparently a Colonel in charge of this region, and they had been accused of being involved in the hijacking. He didn't understand what they were thinking. Sure, he hadn't exactly done his job, but how the hell did that make him a suspect? All he knew was that he was pretty damn angry. He balled his hand into a fist and punched at the air. He wanted some answers, and he wanted them now.

A door opened down the hall, and footsteps echoed toward his cell. A few seconds later there was a CDF officer flanked by two soldiers standing just on the other side of the holding field. He was middle aged, had a few ribbons on his chest, but not too many for a high ranking officer. He probably saw the whole thing as an opportunity to add a few more. God, he hated military types.

"You Pliker?" Falco asked, making no attempt to mask his contempt.

"I am," the Cornerian replied, "I'm here to ask you a few questions concerning the convoy you were hired to protect. Depending on how you answer, I may be inclined to release you and your female companion. If, however, I believe you to be withholding information for any reason-"

"Save it," Falco cut in, "We didn't do anything wrong. You've got no right holding us here."

"I'm sure..." Pliker answered, unammused, "Unfortunately, given what we found when we arrived, we have reason to believe you intentionally failed to protect the convoy in order to assist its hijackers."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Falco barked, "Katt nearly got her tail shot off, and I didn't come out too well either jerk off!"

"Better than some of the other escorts, hm? Oh, I'm sure you're wondering how we _ever_ came to such a conclusion, aren't you?" the officer asked sarcastically, "Tell me, Mister Lombardi, what is your history with Fox McCloud?"

Falco frowned, what did that matter? "What are you getting at?" he asked.

"Just answer the question"

He stared at the man for a second before reluctantly speaking up, "We used to fly together."

Pliker raised an eyebrow and said, "Oh, come now, surly you can be more specific."

Falco sighed, leaned forward, and continued, "Star Fox? Mercenary group, kinda famous. Maybe you've heard of them?" he spat, "We were wing mates for a long time, saved your asses on more than one occasion if I remember straight. Now, do you wanna start makin sense, or are we just going to play stupid games all day?"

The colonel sighed and shook his head. "Very well, I will indulge you for the sake of your prior service to Corneria, but I expect answers when I'm done Mister Lombardi."

"Take that 'mister' shit and shove it," he shot.

Pliker continued, "About three standard hours ago, just after the storm passed, one of this region's interceptors was hijacked during a patrol. The frigate 'Great Fox', registered to one Fox McCloud emerged from Titania's ring, then rendezvoused with the stolen fighter. The planet had been cordoned off since the hijacking, and there had been no incoming traffic from either warp, or gate travel, meaning the vessel had been on or around Titania the entire time. The vessel ignored our hails, and fled as we attempted to close on its location. Most suspicious behavior, wouldn't you say?"

Falco's frown deepened. Fox was here? When? Why?

Pliker didn't wait for an answer. "There was also the matter of the explosion near the ring shortly after the hijackers had fled. As it would happen, it was a derelict mining facility that we believe the hijackers had staged their attack from."

"So?" Falco asked warily.

"In the debris, we found what remained of a Space Dynamics multi-role fighter. An Arwing. These fighters are used exclusively by the 'former' Starfox team, is that correct?"

Falco didn't answer. He had no idea what was happening. Why the hell would fox turn up here after all this time? His thoughts returned the pirate he'd shot down, and his stomach sank. Had that been Fox? Is that why he hadn't finished Falco off when he had the chance? There weren't too many pilots in Lylat that could handle a fighter like that. He eyed Pliker, but didn't say a word.

"I'll take that as a yes," the man continued, "Given what we know, there is reason to believe mister McCloud was involved in the hijacking, and that during the course of events, his fighter was shot down...by you. He _conveniently_ survived the crash, waited out the storm somewhere on the planets surface, then rendezvoused with his ship, and fled. It seems a terrible coincidence that a former comrade of his would be responsible for guarding the very convoy he intended to attack. Even more curious is your assignment to the mission in lieu of a pilot who had no involvement with your little mercenary group. A reassignment made by yet another of your former comrades."

"What are you implying?" Falco asked in a low tone.

"When was the last time you spoke to McCloud?" Pliker pressed on, ignoring his question.

Falco hadn't seen hide or hair of Fox in over three years...since Papetune. "Three years ago," he reluctantly answered, "just after the Anglars were beaten."

Pliker curled his lip indignantly. "You don't say."

"Yeah, I DO say," Falco shot back, "Last I saw of him, he was in a bad way. We got screwed, and he had gotten the worst of it. We hung around Papetune for a while, turned out it was his home growing up...anyway, he disappeared one day, and I haven't seen him since."

Falco remembered how lost Fox had been. He had started drinking more, and wouldn't talk most of the time. He had hated seeing him like that. Fox had always been so strong, so sure of what he was doing. Even when times were bad, he kept things together, always kept his cool. They stayed on Papetune for a few weeks before Falco had gotten a hold of a great idea. He had seen an advertisement for the G-zero grand prix. They were recruiting new racers, and Falco had thought it would be a wild ride, so he was going to pitch the idea to Fox. He was so sure it would perk his buddy up, but...when he got back to the place they were staying, Fox was gone. Falco had tried to ask around, but nobody knew where he'd gone, so he had to abandon the idea, and he went his own way. He had bumped into Katt shortly after, and they'd been traveling together ever since.

"A likely story," Pliker cut into his reveries, "but unless you can prove that you haven't been in contact with McCloud-"

"Unless you can prove that we HAVE, you've got no right to hold us here!" Falco said, jumping up and coming an inch from the holding field. He was making himself look guilty, he knew it, but right now he didn't care. This guy's attitude was pissing him off bad. "I've got no idea what the hell is going on here, but what your accusing him of ISN'T Fox's style! He wouldn't do something like this unless he had a DAMN good reason to," he wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, himself, or this colonel, but he continued, "He's one of the few friends I've got, and I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you drag his name through the dirt with your half-assed guess-work, and that smug fuckin' attitude of yours! Now get the hell out, I'm done talking to you."

He settled down a bit, walked back to his uncomfortable rack, and tossed himself down on it.

"As you wish," Pliker said, turning to leave, "You and I are done for now, but perhaps your Katinese friend will be more cooperative."

"Good luck with that," Falco shot back with a smirk.

Pliker left, and his men followed, leaving him alone in his cell.

"You're _such_ a gentlemen," Katt's voice whispered in his ear. Both of them were wearing two-way communicators, disguised as earrings. They worked by vibrating the bones of the inner ear with tiny, harmless pulses, making the sound they produced inaudible to anyone not wearing it, so they were able to talk as long as no one was around.

"Yeah well, he's headed you're way next," he whispered back, "he seems to think he'll have an easier time with you."

Katt giggled, "So I heard. He's in for a rude awakening...but, Falco, what do you want to do? You know, about Fox?"

Falco sighed, thought for a moment, then answered, "First thing we need to do is get out of here. After that...after that I'm gonna find Fox. I'm gonna find him, and I'm gonna get him to tell me what the hell is going on, face to face. Hell, FIST to face if that's what it takes. If he's innocent, we'll figure a way to clear his name, and get this whole mess sorted."

"...and if it really was him out there?" she asked, concern creeping into her voice.

Falco closed his eyes, pausing a long moment before speaking, "Then he'd better have a damn good explanation...so, you with me?"

"Well, it's not much of a plan," she answered, "but I'm with you, anywhere you wanna go Falco."

He smiled to himself. It wasn't too long ago when he'd have opted to go this solo. Maybe he was getting soft.

"Damn, here comes that wind bag now. We'll go over the escape plan later."

He could hear the conversation through the communicator. He had his share of arguments with Katt, and old Pliker wasn't prepared for what he was walking into. Falco just lay back on his rack, kicked his legs up, and waited for the show to begin.


	13. Chapter 13

Sargasso

Fox's interceptor coasted quietly through the scattered debris and asteroids of the Sargasso region, a lawless no-man's-land littered with make-shift colonies patched from hulks of vessels from as far back as the early days of Corneria's expansion, failed coalition mining bases, and abandoned space stations from all over the Lylat system. Politically speaking, Corneria kept a hands-off policy with the region, the idea being that allowing the system's scum to gather here, at what was essentially a useless, hostile region of space, kept them from gathering where they would be more of a problem. There had been attempts over the years to clean the place out, chiefly due to the amount of piracy that was based out of Sargasso, but sending in any kind of force to the region was like hitting a bee hive with a sick. You get stung plenty, and the bastards just scatter to the four corners of the system before setting up a new nest elsewhere. Essentially, Sargasso was a haven for the outlawed, the outcast, and the just-plain out of luck, and if there was a place to duck under the proverbial radar of Corneria, this was it, provided, of course, you could handle a blaster.

Flying a government vessel into Sargasso was suicide, so Fox had spent the better part of the trip removing any military decals and disabling the fighter's I.D. signal emitter. If he hadn't, he never would have made it this far without having to burn through at least a dozen disgruntled outlaws. He flew a good way longer before he found what he was looking for, a dauntingly-sized asteroid looming in the darkness ahead of him, illuminated by the lighted towers, multiple hanger bays, and beacons that riddled its surface. The rock was enormous, and mostly hollow. The structures adoring its surface were just the tip of the iceberg, and in the case of the towers, havens for the place's more successful inhabitants. It was known as Drifter's Rock, and was one of the largest colonies in Sargasso. It had been a long time since Fox had last set foot inside, and that time he'd had Falco to watch his back. This go-around, he was on his own, and was going to have to be careful.

Fox picked a hanger, one that looked less populated, to guide his fighter into. There was no docking authority here, so parking was on a first-come-first-serve basis. The hanger's shield rippled as Fox pulled his interceptor through. The place was lighted by only a few overhead lights, most of which had failed long ago, and no one had bothered to fix, giving it a gloomy atmosphere, objects scattered about the floor casting long, black shadows. An I-beam hung dangerously low from the ceiling, and the floor was mostly just the stone the hanger had been carved from. What was left of the deck was mostly near the walls, and those spots were rusted and pock-marked. The place looked like it was ready to fall apart, but the shield still worked fine…apparently, and the nicer hangers were usually crowded, so this would do for someone trying not to attract much attention. It only took a moment to spot an open pad, and then he was docked and on his feet. He didn't want to be recognized, recent events being taken into consideration, so he made sure to maintain a low profile. He wore a plain brown jacket, some worn in jeans, and covered his eyes with a set of shades. He wore nothing that would attract undue attention, like his wrist unit or head gear. His blaster, on the other hand, he wore in plain sight. Not carrying, or appearing to be unarmed would not only make him stand out in a place like this, it would make him a target. People like the folks here only left you alone if you looked like you weren't worth bothering, either because you had nothing to take, and even that didn't afford you much protection, or because you looked dangerous enough to give a wide berth.

The large doors at the rear of the hangar emptied into an open corridor that stretched off in either direction for a good distance, and was dotted with evenly spaced tunnels. The tunnels ran through the asteroid's crust, to the core, which housed the majority of the colony. The crust was nearly a mile thick, but most of the tunnels housed tram systems that shuttled you to and from the hangers. The ones that didn't were just long, dark, walkways. If you had a mind to walk, you needed to go in groups, as the walkway tunnels were good places to get mugged. Fox didn't feel like 'grouping up,' and he really didn't want to make a scene of killing some tunnel muggers, so he waited for a tram to arrive. After a while, he heard the tell-tale squealing of metal on metal as the tram pulled up, emerging slowly from the shadows ahead. The walkway tunnels were poorly light, but the tram tunnels weren't lit at all. There was no need. The trams were automated, and their interiors were lit. Maintaining lights in the tunnel simply wasn't worth the effort.

The tram ground to a halt, and someone inside slid the door open. A few people go out, not many, but given how few ships were docked here he wasn't expecting a big crowd. None of them paid him any attention as he moved passed them and stepped into the tram. More than likely having their own problems on their minds, they all just trudged somberly past one another and went their separate ways. Life here wasn't easy, and it showed on the people who lived here. The interior was filthy, battered, and smelled like mold, while low hanging straps dangling from the ceiling afforded some stability if you didn't have a mind to sit on the less than inviting bench seats.

No one else was getting on, and Fox found himself alone as he slid the door closed, found a strap that wasn't broken or rotted, and waited for the tram get moving. After a few moments, the overhead speaker chimed, and it began to accelerate, slowly at first, but with building speed. It wasn't a long trip, so the tram no sooner got up to a good speed as it started to slow, the brakes squealing loudly as it ground to a stop. There were no windows, no real way of gauging how far you had gone, but the speaker chimed again to indicate he could get off. The way the tunnels worked, because the gravity in the core was designed to work backwards, pushing outward against the crust, was that they all had independent grav-systems, and curved gradually 'downward' so that when they emerged; they were flush with the inner walls of Drifter's Rock, and right-side-up, up being toward the center of the asteroid, down being toward the crust. It could be disorienting at first, but Fox was more than used to the gravitational anomalies of life adrift. As he stepped into the open air, the colony stretched out all around, and above him. The entire thing looked like a ram-shackle city built on the inner walls of a ball. The ground's slope was so subtle, that you could hardly tell it was curved at all just by standing there, but in the distance, everything curved upward in all directions. No matter where you looked, the ruddy, run-down buildings, dirty streets, and shady inhabitants of Drifter's Rock were all around you, the roofs of most buildings housing massive light fixtures which projected across the empty space at the asteroid's center, illuminating the parallel sections of the colony. It worked, as far as allowing you to see where you were going, but no matter where you looked, the sun was always in your eyes, there was no night or day here, and the shadows could play strange tricks on you.

Fox readjusted his shades, a lesson learned from past visits, and got moving. He was here for two reasons. One: it was a good place to lay low and get in contact with Viccini, and two: he knew someone here who was good with names, chiefly names of people certain parties didn't want anyone hearing about, names like the ones on Orian's list. His place wasn't far from where Fox was now. In fact, he could see it ahead, slightly above and to the left of him, a small, squat building, sandwiched between two, much larger buildings, known affectionately as 'The Vice.' The guy he was looking for was Aleksie Vadikov, a former Venomonian tribal leader-turned-outcast. He'd lead a complicated life, fleeing his home after the reptilian species of Venom stopped their infighting and flocked to Andross's banner. He'd made a living as a bounty hunter, and had gotten be known as one of the best at his trade, a product of a harsh, predatory upbringing on a hostile, pre-terraformed Venom most like. Of course, that was before he'd lost a leg, then a hand after that. The coup de grace, however, was when a plasma blast had burned most of the skin off his back, and wedged a piece of shrapnel into his spine. He'd gotten prosthetics to compensate, but they weren't the same as real limbs and they had their set-backs. The replacement link in his spine, for instance, caused spasms, sometimes mild, sometimes violent, but always painful. Now, this all happened when Fox was still in diapers, and in the time after, despite these minor setbacks, Aleksie had managed to set himself up on Drifter's Rock as a very successful information trafficker, specializing in the 'who' and 'where' of wanted individuals, whose services Fox had solicited on more than one occasion.

The air was chill as he made his way toward The Vice. The life support systems here were functional, but either old, or had been 'acquired' from newer, hardly compatible vessels, and simply rigged to work. Besides that, the empty space between the inner walls of Drifter's Rock was nearly three miles across. What heat there was came from heating systems beneath your feet, and it didn't stay long before drifting upward. The result was that the colony never really got above fifty degrees or so, as apposed to the balmy seventy-plus of most, functional installations. Still, it was enough to survive, and the people forced to live here preferred it to the absolute zero of the vacuum outside.

There were people everywhere, some walking, some huddled in small groups on street corners and in narrow alleyways. Packs of less-than reputable looking individuals roamed by, some eyeing Fox as if to gauge his worth. He kept his firing hand close to his blaster, thumb hooked loosely in his pants pocket for a quick draw, if needed. An old man in rags held his hands out pleadingly as Fox passed him, silently begging for a few credits for fear that speaking up would earn him a swift kick somewhere painful, or worse. Fox shook his head and walked on. Even if he had anything to give the man, it wouldn't do him much good. His first time here, he'd given a kid a few credits to buy a decent meal, thought he was being real charitable. He'd found the poor kid dead a few hours later, someone had seen him get the money, mugged him, and left him in plain sight. From the wounds, the boy might have survived if someone had gotten him to a doctor, but no one here gave a damn. They'd just let him die…

Fox shook it off. He'd arrived at Aleksie's place, and he needed to concentrate. The doors pushed inward and Fox stepped through. He was met with a waft of warm air, and a few stares from the building's current occupants. There was maybe half a dozen armed men scattered about, some of them patrons, others men working for Vadikov. The doors swung closed behind him as he casually made for the bar at the far end of the room. The bartender was new, a mean-looking Katinese with an ugly scar across his neck. As Fox sat down, the man set a battered tin mug down in front of him, and filled it with the only booze you could get on this rock, a solid-black, frothy beer that coated your innards with a slick, greasy film on the way down. Fox drank it down in one go, slammed the empty mug down, and suppressed a cough.

"I need to see Aleksie," he said, voice rough from the drink, "he around?"

The big cat just eyed him, one eyebrow raised is silent assessment.

Fox looked at the scar on his neck. It looked like it had been a bad wound at some point, the kind of damage you don't walk away from without long-term complications. "Don't talk much, do ya?" He inquired sarcastically.

This made the man visibly angry, but he didn't make a move, just stood there, eyeing him down. A few of Vadikov's men had started taking up positions behind Fox, but he didn't so much as reach for his blaster. He took a deep breath and shouted, "Alex! Get your crippled ass out here! I need to talk to ya!"

The bartender paled, mouth hung slightly open in stunned silence.

"I know you're back there!" Fox continued, smirking confidently "If you don't come out I'm gonna start roughing up your boys! I've had a real BAD day, and I can sure as hell use the work-out! Ya hear me?"

There was a long silence, then, from somewhere in the back, a deep, bellowing laughter erupted into the air. It grew louder as it's source made his way closer, coming from the reinforced safe-room in the back of his establishment, prosthetic leg 'clunking' as he went.

"Is only one man stupid enough to speak to me like this!" the three-hundred plus pound croc roared amusedly in his thick, native accent as he emerged from behind the bar, "I am thinking maybe I will let you live, if only because I have not laughed that well in long time."

Aleksie greeted Fox with a massive, toothy grin, a friendly gesture, but a bit intimidating. The man was a bit fatter than the last time Fox had seen him, but beneath it was enough muscle to tear a man's arm off without so much as a grunt. He sat himself down on one of the nearby barstools, making it groan under his weight. With a wave of his hand, his men relaxed, and went back to whatever business they had been attending before Fox had walked in.

"It's been a while," Fox answered, still smirking to himself.

"Tch! Not long enough McCloud," the reptile shot back, accompanying his speech with the occasional, small hand gesture as he went, "Is not that I don't enjoy our dealings, but you are trouble my friend. Whole system is talking. There will be price on head soon, and people will come to me with questions. 'Where is McCloud?' 'Who are his friends?' 'Where does he stay?' If money is good, well, business relationship will not be enough to keep me quiet, da?"

Fox understood. Business was business, and Aleksie's profession would put the two at odds soon enough, but for the moment, "I just need some information, and I'll be out of your hair."

Aleksie sighed, scratched the scales on the back of his neck, and waved at his bartender to pour him a drink, "Word is you have no work lately. No work means no money. No money means no information." He grabbed his drink, the cup seeming ridiculously small in his massive claw, and downed it like a shot, tossing it back to the mute bartender for another.

"You're right Aleksie, I don't have any money," Fox started.

The big Venomonian downed another shot of beer before cutting in with, "Then why are you here?"

"I'm calling in a favor," Fox continued as Aleksie wiped a bit of foam from the corner of his mouth.

"I don't owe you any favors McCloud," he responded with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"You owe my father."

There was a long pause. Vadikov just stared at him for a long moment without saying a word.

"He was involved in something, something big a little over twenty years ago. I need to know more, and I've got a few leads, but I need your help," Fox said, cutting the silence.

Aleksie seemed to brood over what Fox had just said for a moment longer before he stood and nodded at his bartender. The scared feline nodded back knowingly, and Aleksie signaled for Fox to follow. Behind the bar was a heavy security door, beyond which lay Vadikov's offices, and secure rooms where he traded information. A dangerous looking Cornerian stood guard by it, closing the door behind them as they walked through. The room was plain. Bare metal walls, and hard, polished stone floor. At the far end stood an imposingly sized desk behind which was an enormous chair. Aleksie walked around, dropped his impressive weight into the seat, and gestured for Fox to sit in a smaller chair in front.

"So," he began once Fox had taken a seat, "this will be one and ONLY favor. I give you whatever information you need, and your father and I are even. Now ask your questions."

Fox leaned forward, Orian's list projected in front of him. "Lets start with a man named Sirus Vekkar…"


	14. Chapter 14

Business

Aleksie took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair as he mulled over Fox's request. He opened a drawer on his desk and pulled out a large cigar and a pair of snips.

"I know this name, Vekkar," he said, cutting the tip off of the cigar and reaching for a light, "Scientist and, among other things, very ambitions man. He was very close to your old friend Andross if memory is serving."

"I figured as much," Fox interjected, "I have information linking him to Venom before the Lylat Civil War, with one of Androsse's old dummy corporations in particular. What I need to know is who he was, how close he was to Andross, and where is he now."

Aleksie took a few quick puffs on the cigar as he lit it, dropping the lighter back into the drawer and closing it once it was burning nicely. He took a good long pull, savored it for a moment, then blew it out slowly, saying, "He was subordinate, both before and after Andross was being banished from Corneria."

"Tell me about before," Fox urged. Whatever it was he and Andross had been working on to put them on Orian's list had happened years before the war, so that was what he really wanted to know.

Aleksie shrugged, "Not much to tell. I deal with criminals, McCloud, wanted men. I know that they worked together as colleagues, but back then he did nothing to attract such attentions. What I do know is that _after_ banishment of Andross, Vekkar is remaining secretly loyal to colleague and former leader. You see, he was not involved in illegal experimentation that Andross was being banished for, not officially, and so avoided watchful eye of Corneria in time between then and Lylat Civil War."

"So he was free to move as he pleased," Fox stated, "a useful asset for Andross, considering he had to keep his activities quiet back then."

"Very good," Aleksie confirmed, "You already know about the false corporations used to abduct…eh, _promising_ individuals before war is starting, da? And you already know that Vekkar is involved, but what I am thinking you do not know, is how involved this man was."

Fox just waited quietly for him to continue as Aleksie took another drag off his cigar.

"You see, Vekkar was brilliant man. Not so much as his superior, but still very much up to the task of replacing Andross, and still very useful to Corneria, considering they had just lost their chief scientist, and so this man, in the vacuum created in Androsse's absence, is becoming very prominent figure in certain circles."

"What kinds of circles?" Fox asked.

"The best kinds," Aleksie continued with a sly smile, "the kinds with money and power. Businesses, politicians, scientific communities, and research firms of all kinds looking for easy way to get ahead of competition had vast interest in Androsse's work, and in the eyes of these peoples, Vekkar is the inheritor of everything Andross had been working on. Problem was, Cornerian government is classifying most of it as top secret material, barring most if not all of these parties from utilizing it. So, what do you think happens when people with money and power want something they are not allowed to have?"

"They find a way to get it anyway," Fox concurred.

"Da, and so suddenly Vekkar and, therefore, Andross are having many powerful contacts willing to do whatever Vekkar is asking of them in order to get what they are wanting. Funnel money, supplies, generate revenue for false corporations as well as provide mock competition to keep things appearing legal. Corporations are then used not only to attract scientists and engineers, but also to make contracts with shipyards, major manufacturers, bribe official, and many, many more tasks, all under the nose of Corneria, kept quiet by corporate lobbyists and political allies in government."

Fox thought for a moment. He had never really considered how Andross, a lone scientist, had managed continue his research, as well as amass such massive forces while marooned on a harsh, undeveloped world at the edge of the system. The official story was that his support had come largely from dissenters, people dissatisfied with Cornerian government, who had flocked to Andross just before the war had begun, but that hadn't really made much sense. The forces Fox had faced had been organized, well funded, and well equipped. All of these things took money, time, and influence to acquire. When he stopped to think about it, what Vadikov was telling him made far more sense, but there was one thing. If all of these activities had been hidden from the government, then, "How exactly did you get this information?"

Aleksie blew a plume of smoke into the air. "When war starts, _unexpectedly_ Vekkar defects to Venom with many others. This puts him and all of his prior activities under much scrutiny, which means he is now criminal, and he is becoming of interest to people like me."

The croc leaned in closer as he continued, "But here is interesting part. Several years ago, documents are leaked from CDF Bureau of Investigations indicating that the Bureau was aware of Vekkar's dealings several months before he is defecting."

If the Bureau knew what Vekkar had been up to, but hadn't made a move, it could only mean one thing.

"They were watching him, trying to learn something," Fox thought aloud, "so what was it?"

"This I do not know," Aleksie answered, "However, at same time he is defecting, something is stolen, not by Vekkar, but by men loyal to him and to Andross. Again, I am not knowing what this thing was, but it was important."

"How important?" Fox pressed.

Vadikov took another long pull off of his cigar, blowing it out in a long stream before he spoke again.

"When this item is disappearing, Cornerian Council itself dispatches bulk of Federation Fleet to 'secure' Venom," Aleksie said, "You understand? ENTIRE fleet to chase down a few fleeing criminals? Millions of credits spent just to mobilize such forces!"

He was talking about the fleet sent to secure Venom just before the war had begun. Corneria had claimed that the fleet was going to subdue the planet due to the 'dangerous activities' that had been observed there, but whatever the reasons for the dispatch, it had ended in disaster. Roughly two-thirds of Corneria's fleet forces had come out of warp above Venom in one of the largest military movements in recent history, only to be met with one of Androsse's most infamous creations, the Bolse Space Station. That nightmare had been built using technologies Corneria had never seen before. Capital ship weaponry was unable to even scratch it, while its weapon systems sliced through some of Lylat's most powerful vessels like tissue paper. Accompanied by swarms of fighter-craft, and the unexpected presence of Venom's, until that moment, secret war fleet, the Federation Fleet hadn't stood a chance against it. Nearly every ship sent into Venom had been captured or destroyed, thousands of lives lost in a battle that raged for less than an hour…it had been a slaughter. A few days later, while Corneria had still been reeling from the catastrophic loss, Venom had launched its counter offensive, driving deep into Lylat with virtually no opposition. By the time General Pepper had reorganized the remainder of the fleet, Venom held strong footholds across nearly half of the Lylat system.

Fox sat in reverent silence for a moment before he spoke. "So you're saying that massacre took place because Cornaria wanted their property back? Thousands of lives lost under the premise-"

"Of maintaining peace," Aleksie finished form him, "Corneria is not peaceful utopia they would have you believe, McCloud. You should know this. After all, you and I have both seen just how ugly she can be."

_There's no such thing as paradise, son, _his father's words echoed through his thoughts from long ago. He'd never understood that when he was younger, but in the years since he'd gotten to know the grit and dirt between the cracks and under the neatly polished surface of Lylatian society that the vids just didn't show. The fact was, the place wasn't perfect. That's part of what James McCloud had been telling his son back then, but, despite it all, it was home…_There's no such thing as paradise, son, just home, and those you share it with._

"Yeah," Fox answered, humorlessly, "yeah, I guess we have. So, what happened to Vekkar? After he defected?"

Aleksie shrugged. "No one knows. It is believed that he continued working as one of Androsse's chief scientists, but for most part, Vekkar disappeared. There were traces of his activities found in Venomonian records taken after Androsse's defeat, but now, Sirus Vekkar is nothing but ghost."

Fox groaned inwardly. This information on Vekkar was fascinating, but if he couldn't actually find the man, it was all useless at the moment, a dead end. Still, this 'item', that had gone missing seemed promising. For the Council to take executive action in dispatching the CFF, and action which required a unanimous vote of all twelve members to override the authority of the Consulate General, then General Pepper, who had been in opposition to sending the fleet, the item in question must have been of enormous importance, and for them to have lied about their reason for dispatching those forces, they must have had a vested interest in keeping it's existence a secret.

"You don't know anything else about what was stolen? Anything at all?" Fox asked, "Your source must have made some indication of what had disappeared."

"Niet," Aleksie sighed, "there was nothing…"

He paused for a moment, thinking to himself, and tapped an area on his desk. A screen appeared on its surface, upon which several running programs were displayed. Vadikov sorted through them for a few moments, found one, and began digging through files. Fox waited patiently as Aleksie worked. Whatever he was looking for was bound to be important.

"Ah! Here we are!" the big reptile exclaimed, puling up what appeared to be a high security report from the Consulate Intelligence Agency, a separate organization from the Bureau of Investigations. The Agency was the eyes, ears, and fangs of the Council, their highly trained network of spies, agents, and other such operatives. He would like to have asked how Aleksie had gotten a hold of one of their reports, but he knew better than to expect an answer.

"At end of this report it states: …suspects' trajectory indicates they have fled to Venom with CIPHER in their possession. All operatives on Venom have gone silent, and immediate dispatch of fleet forces is advised.-"

"The cipher?" Fox questioned, "That must be what they stole."

"So it seems," Aleksie concurred, "A minute detail at first glance, I apologize for not remembering. Still, this does no seem to do much good all things being considered."

Fox leaned back in his chair, eyes intently focused as he said, "Maybe, maybe not. It's a piece of the puzzle, I'm sure, and the more pieces I have the better."

Aleksie chuckled. "You remind me of your Father," he said, pausing a moment as he seemed to weigh Fox with his eyes, "He was a good man. Best I have ever hunted."

Aleksie twitched slightly, reaching down touch the prosthetic link in his spine. "Last I ever hunted, unfortunately," he said, voice thick with pain. It passed, and Vadikov relaxed.

"He saved your life," Fox said, evenly.

Aleksie jut nodded, "Spared it more like. He has told you this story?"

"Bits and pieces, I never got to hear the whole thing."

Vadikov puffed out another plume of smoke and his eyes lost their focus as he stared off into nothing, recalling the past with an air of nostalgia.

"I was hired by a man, many years ago to hunt down your father, bring him in alive, and, preferable, undamaged," he began, a predatory grin spreading across his face, "He was not difficult to find. He was just beginning as a mercenary, with many fresh ties to CFF, ties easy to follow. I track him here, to Drifter's Rock, and hope to take him unawares, but somehow he is knowing that I am there. Small explosion in hanger disables his fighter, so he cannot escape, easily done, and I hunt him.

"For three days I chase McCloud through this place. Three days he is escaping me! I had never had ANYONE run for so long without me catching them. I chase through every part of colony, from tunnels to slums to outer towers!" He continued, eyes narrowed and glinting like an animal on the hunt as he relived the experience, his voice becoming more excited, more avid as he went on, "Every time we fight is glorious battle! Every time, one of us nearly dies! But always he is slipping away!"

There was a pause. Fox just listened quietly as Aleksie collected himself, fervor gradually being replaced by a calm, reverent smile.

"As the chase went on, I am becoming more angry, more frustrated, but McCloud…he always is keeping his head, always thinking, gears always turning, like yourself. At time, I thought he just toys with me, or that he was underestimating me, but now I know. He was leading me, studying me. Every mistake I make, every time I am losing control he takes it, uses it against me. Eventually he bates me into maintenance passage, just below city streets. I am angry that it has taken so long, but SO confident that I have him, that I rush in like fool…and HE has ME.

"Passage is small, narrow. I am thinking that he cannot escape because I block entire exit, but he just stands there with smug grin on his face…and a detonator in his hand.

"He warns me," Aleksie said in a low tone, "Says to me that explosives are behind me, that my body would shield him from the blast, and I know…I KNOW he has won…but he hesitates.

"It was my mistake," he sighed, "I saw mercy, and thought it was weakness. I made my move, and he made his."

The room was quiet for a long moment. Fox watched Aleksie as he slowly roused from his reflections.

"Next thing I know, I am waking up in dingy hospital bed," he concluded, "your father had somehow managed to drag me all the way there."

Vadikov chuckled, "He even footed bill."

Fox had known Aleksie for a long time now, and he'd never once told that story. He'd heard most of it from his father, other bits from Peppy, so he knew what had happened, but it was good to hear this man's part as well.

An odd, warm feeling was crawling through Fox's gut, and before he knew it he started talking.

"Always have had questions," he said, just thinking aloud more than anything, "about my father. It's just, I always thought I'd have a lifetime to figure it all out, ya know? He's been gone, God, fifteen years now? And all of a sudden I…I stumble across something from his past, something that might give me some answers, and I have to know. Hell, I thought about turning myself in back on Titania, but I couldn't do it. If it means learning something, anything about my father, then I'm going to follow this rabbit hole as far as it'll go…"

Aleksie gave an approving grunt, and then gave him a serious look.

"Careful," he warned, "If you go in too deep, there isn't always way back out."

Fox nodded. He understood, but he'd made his decision back on Titania, and he was determined to see it through to the end. Vadikov watched him for a moment, took a last drag off of his cigar, and snuffed it out. He gave a heavy sigh, blowing smoke in a wide plume as he did.

"You owe me James," he mumbled under his breath.

"What?" Fox asked, confused.

Aleksie stood, even eyed and serious. He locked eyes with Fox and said, "You need to go. Now!"

Fox stood up quickly He didn't like what was happening.

"Why?" he asked, warily, "What's going on?"

"There is not much time," Aleksie explained, flatly, "Not long ago, large sum of credits are offered for any information involving you, if you were alive or dead, and if alive, your whereabouts. This offer is coming from man named Horus, major information trafficker, the best. If he is looking for you, then someone has paid him a fortune to do it."

"You sold me out," Fox dryly stated.

Aleksie shrugged guiltily, saying, "Da, I told you, business relationship would not be enough, and credits were VERY good. Of course, when he is finding out that I am letting you go, I will not be seeing so much of it, I think."

"Then why help me?" Fox asked, eyeing the Venomonian with suspicion.

"Listen McCloud," Vadikov said, dismissing the question entirely, "whoever is after you is well connected, and probably has men on this colony. If you are not gone before they get here, then I will be forced to do something that I am really not wanting to do."

He hit a button under his desk, and a part of the wall behind him slid seamlessly upward, revealing a dark passageway.

"Now," he said with finality, "go."

Fox understood. He didn't ask any more questions as he moved passed Aleksie and into the passage, but he did look back to say, "Thanks, Aleksie."

Vadikov, in turn, shot him his terrifying, lopsided smile.

"Good hunting McCloud," he said, hitting the button again and closing the door between the two. The tunnel went completely dark, and Fox reached out and felt the wall to keep his bearings. He started moving down the tunnel as fast as he could manage, considering he couldn't see ahead of him, his steady footfalls echoing in the darkness. There was a steep downward slope, and then the ground evened out.

"Orian, is there anything you can do here?" he asked, addressing him for the first time in hours.

"I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about me," Orian chuckled, "Ah, but unfortunately, I have no pre-existing data regarding the layout of this facility, so I only know what your sensory data tells me. Apologies."

"You don't have to apologize," Fox answered.

"Kind of you."

Fox clarified, "Apologies don't do me any good. Either do as I ask, or tell me you can't."

"Ah," Orian monosyllabically voiced his understanding.

Fox could barely see as he went, but as far as he could tell, the passage just went straight. It dipped down and rose steeply a few times, likely avoiding pipeline or other subterranean systems. Eventually he came to an upward slope that ended in what he could just make out as an old, solid metal hatch. The lock mechanism was a simple turn-wheel that felt rusted as he grabbed it and turned counter-clockwise. It groaned loudly as its internal parts reluctantly moved to unlock, the sound reverberating back down the corridor, and, as it began to open, light streamed in from outside.

The lenses on Fox's shades automatically adjusted to the bright light as he stepped out into an empty alley. He dusted himself off and made for the more crowded city streets, casually rounding the corner and blending into the cacophony of activity that was Drifter's Rock. He looked around to get a good feel for where he was, and spotted The Vice. Several armed, thuggish-looking men where making their way inside, while a few remained at the door as guards. Aleksie could take care of himself, he wasn't worried about that, but when they discovered that Fox wasn't there, they'd come looking for him, so staying here wasn't going to be an option anymore. He needed to get back to his ship, and get out of Drifter's Rock, possibly even Sargasso altogether, as soon as possible, but before he went…

Fox tapped a button on the side of his shades, producing a small reticule on the left lens. He positioned it over the nearest thug and tapped the button again, causing the reticule to zoom in, magnifying his target. They were all wearing similar black leather jackets with matching symbols emblazoned on the back. It looked like a silver hand, fingers spread wide and a cut across the palm that oozed gold. He wasn't familiar with gang symbols, but he made a note of it, briefly regretting Falco's absence from the situation, and started walking. He shoved his hands firmly in his jacket pockets as he went, the right pocket having been cut out so Fox's hand reached through, resting firmly on the grip of his pistol, just in case.

The quickest rout back would have taken him back past Aleksie's place, so he was going to have to take a detour. As he walked, he started thinking. Aleksie had said whoever had sent those men probably worked for someone with connections. At the same time, Rob had filled him in on the trip here that someone had leaked his involvement with the convoy to LNS, which is how the CDF had known who he was back on Titania. Assuming it was the same person, they had to be someone who both knew about Fox's involvement, and had the money, resources, and motive to pull something like that off, and there was only one name that came to mind.

"Viccini," Fox growled as he turned another corner. He'd had his suspicions when He'd learned of how the mining station had been detonated with his arwing still inside, but he had been hoping that it had just been Warren that had double-crossed him. Simply put, implicating Viccini meant any chance he still had of getting paid was out the window, and going to him first, without being certain, would have been a mistake, especially considering that his suspicions now seemed to be true. That's why he'd gone to Aleksie first. Though he hadn't gotten the chance to ask him everything he had wanted, he had learned a few interesting things about Vekkar, and the existence of this 'cipher'. Unfortunately, Vekkar seemed to be a dead end, for the moment at least, and while he had a list of other names, he had no idea where most of them were. Even if he did, he was rapidly running out of money, and it didn't look like he was getting paid anytime soon. The Great Fox's fuel cells needed to be swapped every three years or so, and he was pushing four so far there hadn't been any trouble, but warp travel took a lot out of them, and using the gates wasn't a option at this point due to the heavy security surrounding them. There were also plenty of other maintenance issues with systems all over the ship, and to top it all off, Fox WAS going to need to eat sometime in the near future.

His stomach gave a sympathetic groan as he rounded yet another corner, shoulders slumped, and ears low. As he did, the reports of several blaster shots made his head snap up, and his hand instinctively loosen his pistol in its holster. They had come from ahead of him, more sounding to confirm the direction. Suddenly, the windows of a nearby building blew violently outward in all directions with the telltale 'BOOM!' of a grenade going off. Broken glass and bits of brick and mortar rained down onto the streets as people panicked and scattered in all directions.

A few seconds later, out of the building's front door burst a very familiar-looking ape, a trickle of blood running down Warren's brow as he regained his balance, brushing debris from his shoulders and looking around wildly.

Fox smiled wickedly to himself. It seemed like his day was looking up after all. He began to close in on his recent accomplice, shouldering through the few remaining people as they hurried to leave the area, and fluidly drawing and arming his pistol in one motion as he moved.

Two more men emerged from the wrecked building and Warren made a break for it, seeming to favor one leg as he ran. Not wanting any competition, fox leveled his blaster on his target's pursuers, thugs wearing the same symbol as the ones from earlier, and fired. Two shots, both went down, and Warren froze in his tracks. He appeared to be confused by this apparent stranger's assistance, squinting at Fox to try and make out who he was.

"Don't come any closer!" he yelled, eyes wild as he ripped his last remaining grenade form his now empty belt, "or I swear to God Almighty I'll blow you and everyone around you straight to hell!"

Fox stopped briefly, summing up the situation in a hear beat. Those men had been wearing the same insignia as the ones who had been swarming into Aleksie's place, meaning they were in the same organization, and were likely working for the same man. Warren was alone, wounded, and obviously scared shitless, all good conditions to be coaxed into cooperation.

"Looks like Viccini played you too, huh Warren?" Fox asked as more of a statement, keeping his pistol leveled evenly on the ape's head.

Warren's eyes narrowed, his resolve visibly wavering.

"Fox?" he said, warily, "I kinda figured you were dead."

Fox wasn't really in the mood for pleasantries or explanations at the moment. "Let's cut the shit, huh? We really don't have time for it. Those two I shot have friends less than a mile away, and they'll be here in soon!."

Warren's eyes darted back and forth. He was starting to panic, on the verge of bolting.

"Put that grenade down," Fox said, as reassuringly as he could while staring down the iron-sights of an armed blaster, "come with me, and we'll both get the hell off this rock."

Warren lowered the grenade half way, backed up a pace, then raised it again, shouting, "Why the FUCK should I trust you?"

"I'm not asking you to trust me," Fox calmly answered, "I'm TELLING you that you're coming with me. Now, you're looking pretty banged up. I'm guessing none of your men made it out of that building alive, and you don't have a prayer of getting out of here in on your own in the shape you're in."

Fox gave all this a second to register to his target's adrenaline soaked mind before continuing, "The way I see it, there's two ways you're getting out of here. It's either with me, or jettisoned out an airlock without a vac suit. Take your damn pick, but make it fast 'cause I don't have all day!"

The street was deserted now, everyone having fled after the explosion. It was just him and Warren, staring each other down…and Fox had him. He could see it in his eyes. Warren brooded for a moment before lowering the grenade, disarming it, and placing the explosive back at his side.

"You got a ship?" he asked.

"No, I walked," Fox snipped as he hurriedly closed, lowering his blaster to his hip but keeping it trained on Warren. When he was close enough, he snatched the grenade from his belt, and clipped it onto his own.

"Now, get moving," he said, giving his captive a shove in the desired direction and setting a hurried pace, "We're too out in the open, and our little scene probably grabbed a lot of unwanted attention."

As soon as Fox's hand came in contact with Warren, his head swam and his ears began to ring. He shook it off, and the sensation faded.

"Fox, did you feel that just now?" Orian asked, sounding a bit stunned.

"Did you?" Fox mumbled back low enough for Warren not to hear. It seemed a bit odd that an A.I. would 'feel' anything.

"Definitely. I'm not sure what that was, but it seemed so…familiar…like a voice…"

"Get it together. We'll worry about whatever that was later," Fox whispered.

"Alright, understood," Orian responded, still sounding a bit out of it.

"Yo, you talking to yourself back there?" Warren asked sarcastically.

Fox just pressed the barrel of his pistol into the man's back, and kept going. Warren was limping steadily, and he kept trying to slow down, but Fox kept him moving. He was breathing heavily and sweat soaked by the time they reached a more crowded street, and seeing as how they weren't so exposed anymore, Fox allowed for an easier pace.

"How much farther?" Warren wheezed.

Fox could see the tunnel entrance ahead. "About three hundred meters, give or take," he said, gauging the distance by eye.

"Actually, its tree hundred and twenty-six point one seven meters exactly," Orian's voice chimed in, sounding a bit more like himself as he projected a scale along the length of the distance and displayed the number on the inner lens of Fox's shades, "You were pretty close though…"

"Thanks," Fox snarled.

"What?" Warren asked, giving him an odd look.

Fox just shook his head, giving another push to keep him moving. This time when he touched Warren, nothing happened, so Fox dismissed whatever had happened earlier for the moment. They hadn't taken two steps when he grabbed his captive by the collar, jerking him to a halt as a group of thugs emerged from an intersection ahead and to the right, scanning the crowd for either him or Warren.

He tossed Warren roughly into a nearby ally, following quickly behind. Warren fell over, cradling his bad leg and gritting his teeth to suppress a yelp.

"Ya mind no being so damn rough?" he shot when the pain had passed, "It ain't like I ain't fuckin' cooperatin'!"

"You blew up my arwing," Fox answered, flatly, aiming his blaster at Warren's head, "The only reason I'm not leaving you here to die is because I figure you might know something useful. Now get up and stop bitching before I shoot your good leg and make your crawl the rest of the way."

Warren swallowed hard, and grudgingly got back on his feet. He seemed to think for a moment, and then smiled ruefully.

"Ya know, the vids always made you look like some kina fuckin' hero. It used to piss me off, so I gotta say, I kinda like seeing this side of you," He said, his tone oddly respectful, "puts things in perspective."

"People make you out to be who they want you to be," Fox responded without batting an eye, "I'm not a hero, I'm a merc. Hope that helps your 'perspective', now get moving."

A few more detours brought them to within one hundred meters, ninety-three according to Orian's display, and Fox and Warren were hunched down behind a pile of garbage overlooking a straight shot to the tunnels leading to his fighter. The tram was already there, but Fox counted four men guarding it, and another two standing by the walkway tunnel. He doubted they knew which hanger he was docked in, and figured they had similar watches set up at every tunnel in the area.

"Now what?" Warren asked, clearly lacking any ideas of his own, "there's too damn many to take in a straight fight."

He was right about that. They needed some sort of distract-

The ground shook slightly, and Fox turned in time to see smoke and debris spreading from what was moments ago a small, squat building, wedged between tow bigger ones, both of which began to crumble in on what remained of The Vice. Fox stared for a long moment before looking away, fists clenched and white knuckled as his tail sank low to the ground.

"Friend of yours?" Warren asked.

"He was," Fox answered bitterly.

He returned his focus to the men blocking his escape. There was nothing he could do for Aleksie now. The guards were all smirking and laughing it up as they pointed and waved at the smoldering ruin of Aleksie's place. Fox raised his blaster. If he could pic off one or two, the rest might come charging into the alley, then could try the grenade and hope it took out the rest.

They were too busy laughing and joking to notice him as he braced himself against the garbage pile and set his sights on the nearest thug. It wouldn't be an easy shot from this distance, but he focused on his front sight, target in view, but out of focus. A slow, steady squeeze on the trigger and-

Alarms blared across the colony, red emergency lights flashing on rooftops and tunnels everywhere. Fox barely stopped himself from applying the last bit of pressure on the trigger to keep from firing as the thugs looked around wildly, grouped up, and ran off.

"It's the CDF!" someone shouted, "Bastards are makin' a move!"

"Every man for demselves!" another bellowed.

A loudspeaker mounted on a nearby wall crackled to life, blaring a rough, authoritative voice that said, "Listen up! We got a CDF fleet buttin' into our turf! Every mug with a set o' balls and a space worthy fighter better scramble out there and get ready for a fight! Let's show these dogs they ain't welcome!"

The brief announcement was met with several cheers, and people started running everywhere, some to their ships, others just to take cover somewhere safe from the madness.

"Idiots," Warren growled, "they're gonna get slaughtered while the announcer man uses 'em for cover and jets…"

Fox nodded in agreement. "You're right," he said, coldly, "and it sounds like a hell of a good plan."

He yanked Warren to his feet and practically dragged him along, his captive hobbling beside him as fast as he could. Someone slammed the door closed on the tram before they could reach it, and it sped away down into the tunnel.

"Shit," Fox cursed, making for the walkway tunnel instead. He heard somebody shout to his left, and saw one of Viccini's thugs pointing in their direction and yelling over the noise for his companions. Fox aimed and fired a quick shot, catching the man in the back of the neck. He fell over dieing, unable to scream as he clutched the smoldering hole in his neck and writhed on the floor.

"How's the leg?" Fox shouted back at Warren as they came to the entrance to the tunnel.

"Fuckin' DANDY!" Warren shouted back, sweat soaked and breathing raggedly, "What do you care?"

"Because this tunnel is over a mile long, and I don't plan on dragging you!" Fox snapped, practically throwing Warren back in front.

"Start running!" he ordered, "I'll catch up!'

Warren didn't stick around to question the order, hobbling down the tunnel without giving a second glance. He had no ship to escape on, and the tunnels were straight shots. He had nowhere else to run, so Fox would have no trouble catching him before he reached the hanger.

They didn't have much of a chance of outrunning any pursuers seeing as how Warren was wounded, so at the moment, he had to make sure no one could follow them, or at least find a way to slow them down if they did.

"Fox," Orian said, highlighting a rusty support, "my analysis of this structure's integrity shows this may be a weak point." The rough stone around the support was cracked, and loose dust occasionally sifted through, dropping to the ground to form a small pile. "Destroying it may trigger a collapse," Orian offered.

"Good enough for me," Fox said, blowing a small hole in the wall behind the support with his blaster.

A group of Viccini's men broke away from the mob outside and made for the tunnel, weapons up and firing as he jammed Warren's high yield grenade into the hole, armed it, and ran like a bat out of hell. A bolt from one of their blasters grazed his right arm, cutting through his jacket and singing the flesh beneath. He inhaled sharply, but didn't break stride. More shots impacted all over the tunnel, flinging rock and dust everywhere was his pursuers charged after him, firing wildly.

The grenade went off just as the first thug reached the support. He didn't even have a chance to shout before the blast turned his body into heated bone fragments and hot red mist. The support blew out spectacularly, what remained groaning loudly as it failed under the weight of the tunnel it had just been holding up. There was a pause, a last sorrowful groaning of metal, and the tunnel was suddenly filled with the sound of falling rock as the entrance collapsed.

Fox didn't look back, but continued sprinting down the tunnel. It wasn't long before he spotted Warren up ahead, stopped and bent over to catch his breath. He had barely made it a quarter of a mile, just far enough to pass out of sight due to the curvature of the tunnels.

"What was all the noise?" Warren asked as Fox approached, pistol at the ready.

"I sealed the tunnel," Fox answered, giving him a nudge to get him moving again.

Warren looked relieved. "Good," he said, "means we can walk."

"We still have to hurry," Fox told him, "my carrier is waiting outside the asteroid field, and we have to rendezvous before the CDF spot it."

"Might be too late," Warren interjected.

"All the more reason to get a move on," Fox said with another nudge of his blaster.

It took about ten minutes to reach the exit. Fox carefully came around the corner and into the passageway, pistol up and scanning. The tunnels farther down had people running out of them, but this section was clear, and he signaled Warren to follow.

As they entered the hanger, Warren whistled, giving Fox's interceptor an approving once-over.

"Damn Foxy boy!" he said, looking impressed, "Where'd ya score that beauty?"

Fox didn't answer. As they reached the ship, Warren's enthusiasm faded, replaced by a look of puzzlement.

"Uh…Fox?" he started, warily looking over the fighter, "how are we both getting' outta here on a one-seater?"

Fox opened a panel just below the cockpit and hit a button. As he did, a hatch opened on the hip's underbelly, revealing a small cargo compartment.

Warren paled. "…you're kidding, right?" he asked, weakly.

Before Warren could turn to face him, Fox struck him with the butt of his pistol. He collapsed on the floor in an unconscious heap, and Fox stuffed him, unceremoniously, into the cramped compartment, then sealed it. It was insulated, so Warren wouldn't freeze to death, but there was no life support in there, so his air would last much longer with him being incapacitated.

"Fox," Orian spoke up, "I believe that man has been in contact with technology similar to my own."

"What?" Fox said, popping the canopy and making for the cockpit.

"Its just…that sensation, I recognized it. It was your implants responding to a marker signal."

"What the hell are you talking about Orian?" Fox asked, "What's a marker signal?"

"I only just…well…remembered really, when you touched him. It's a signal emitted by systems that have been removed from their base ship or installation. It's to help find and return them to their place of origin."

"Alright, so why did you pick it up from him?" Fox pressed, intrigued, "he's not exactly what I'd call alien 'technology'."

"The marker signal is a form of harmless radiation that can imprint itself on anything that comes in close contact with it. It makes the device in question easier to find, you see…"

"So that's how you figured he had come in contact with it," Fox reasoned, "I'll be sure to ask him about it later. For now, let's just get out of here."

"Understood," Orian answered.

Fox climbed up onto the cockpit, strapped in, and began the start up sequence as soon as he landed in the seat.

Just as the canopy hissed shut, a figure came striding into the hanger, a lone female wearing a form fitting suit that looked to be a newer, sleeker model of the BioTech armor the CFF's elite wore into combat. It completely covered her from the neck down, and she wore a full helmet, so no major features were discernible. There were no insignia's or markings to indicate she was with the fleet, so she was either a very well equipped hunter…or an agent.

Fox prayed it wasn't the latter, as he eased the throttle forward and started taxiing toward the exit. An agent was the last thing he wanted to have to deal with right now.

He aimed the interceptor toward open space, and was about to punch it, when a larger, heavily armed gunship lowered itself into view, just on the other side of the hanger's shield, blocking his escape. He looked back at his guest and saw she was using a wrist computer, similar to the one Fox used, but again, a much newer model. It was an easy assumption to make that the gunship was hers.

She reached up and pressed a spot on the bottom on her helmet, and Fox's com chirped. He gritted his teeth and patched it through.

"Come now Mr. McCloud, Lets not make this harder than it has to be," a playful female voice came across the speakers, her voice laced with the proper speech of Cornerian high society, "Power down and step out of your ship so that I can place you into custody."

_Bounty hunter_, Fox reasoned, somewhat relieved. An agent would have shot first, disabled his vessel, and either killed or captured their target without so much a warning. He quickly scanned his surroundings for anything useful. The gunship was there just to block him. She wouldn't have it fire because she would risk getting hit by her own ships weapons with where she was standing. The hanger's shield afforded no protection at all. Its only function was to hold in the hanger's air and heat…

Fox smiled as he instantly identified four promising targets.

"Sorry lady," he replied to the bounty hunter as his weapon systems target the four shield projectors positioned at each of the hanger door's four corners, "but that's a negative."

He opened fire, obliterating the four big machines in a spray of laser fire and molten metal. The shield failed instantly, and in a violent rush, everything in the hanger was sucked out into the vacuum beyond it. The hunter remained held in place by the grav-lock system in her boots, crouched low to the ground to avoid the assault of flying refuse, but her ship swerved to avoid the onslaught, giving Fox an opening.

He slammed the throttle forward and burst free. The gunship fired on him as soon as the hunter was clear of its line of fire, but it didn't pursue, eventually giving up and moving into the hanger to pick up its owner.

She'd never catch up, and Fox's attention shifted front. It was chaos outside. Asteroids shattered under the onslaught of stray fire from every imaginable make and origin of mixed fighters as they squared off with the uniform craft of the Cornerian Defense Forces. Not far off, a line of light attack frigates closed on the conflict, spraying lethal point-defense fire at grouped targets of enemy fighters, causing them to scatter and fall victim to packs of well trained CDF pilots.

Fox sped away, dodging between broken asteroids and wreckage to impede any pursuers, but he wasn't alone in his dash. For every rogue vessel that was putting up a fight, three more were making a break for open space, and the CDF were firing on combatants and non-combatants alike.

Luckily, none of the CDF fighters seemed capable of keeping up with his CFF interceptor, and while some of these guys were pretty good, there wasn't one of them he couldn't shake.

He spotted a group of fighters approaching from the left, and fired a short barrage past a fleeing cargo vessel's right, causing it to veer into the approaching CDF. They scattered around the large vessel, firing on it as they charged past one another, and Fox blasted away during the confusion.

Two fighters regrouped on his six, and tried to pursue. Fox was outpacing them, but they were already within effective range of their laser cannons. He denied them a clear shot just as his instruments blared a lock-on warning by cutting back on the throttle and banking hard right, ducking behind a large space hulk. The two fighters came around the hulk behind him with cannons blazing, a glancing hit shaking his interceptor has he powered forward at full bore. He was nearly out of their laser's firing range when he spotted two large, closely grouped asteroids drifting toward one another, the space between them growing smaller by the second. He made a b-line straight for them. They seemed to overlap one another as they closed together, and Fox cut under the first, pulled up sharply, and hit the overdrive as he squeezed through the narrowing space between them. Rock and metal began to fly all around him as peaks and spires on the asteroids' surfaces ground together, the opening before him quickly becoming a closing passage. He barely dodged a large chunk of rock in the confined space, and opened fire with his lasers to clear the path as the burst free of one scene of chaos, and back into another, his pursuers nowhere to be seen.

He took the opportunity to hail the Great Fox. "Rob, what's your status?" he called over the com.

"Several vessels are closing on my position," Rob monotonously responded, "Estimated time to firing range, seventy seconds."

Fox cursed. There was no way he could reach the Great Fox that fast.

"Rob, I want you to get clear. I'll use my fighter's warp engines and meet you at the fall-back point," he ordered. Amongst the droves of other escapees, he doubted the CDF would be able to distinguish their warp trails from anyone else's, so there would be no need fro a detour through a nebula to lose them, and besides, his unconscious passenger only had enough air for a one-way, no stop trip, and Fox needed him in more-or-less good shape for questioning.

"Rodger," came Rob's curt reply, "initiating warp."

A few seconds later the com cut out, hopefully meaning that the Great Fox had escaped. Now all Fox had to do was get clear of Sargasso's asteroid field, and he could make his own jump. He dodged and weaved between other, slower fleeing vessels, avoiding the numerous pockets of resistance that swarmed around Sargasso's larger colonies until, at last, the field of debris and rock began to thin.

As he approached open space, Fox plotted his warp vector, and started warming up the drives. He was nearly free when a fresh CDF fighter group entered the fringe of the field, making a run at the fleeing vessels around him. He didn't slow, maneuvering around the other vessels to use them as shields. It was nothing personal, of course, but these people were mostly criminals, and while he wouldn't go out of his way to take them down, he sure as hell wasn't going to waste time protecting them.

A few of the smaller ones went down, but the bigger, more heavily armored vessels plowed onward, shrugging off the relatively light laser fire the CDF fighters threw at them, and a few moments later, the rag-tag group burst clear, separating once they reached open space as each ship made for their individual warp trajectories.

Fox's eyes opened wide as he saw what waited outside of Sargasso's field. It was the largest CDF strike force he had ever seen. An enormous Dominus-class warship imposed itself upon the groups center, surrounded by carriers, dozens of cruisers, and hundreds of frigates, all holding back, waiting. Movement near the edges of the fleet drew his attention, as he spotted several frigate task-groups, headed by heavy cruisers, spreading out from the mass of vessels and dragging large spherical devices behind them.

Fox zoomed in on one of them with a function of his heads-up display, immediately identifying it as a phase-net. Once deployed, they would inhibit warp in and out of the region within the effective range of their field. The CDF was locking down the entire Sargasso region…

For the moment, at least, they weren't all activated, but ships unfortunate enough to emerge closer to the fleet were already being caught, so the net was beginning to spread as the task-forces deployed their devices.

Fox quickly adjusted his vector to clear the net. It would get him clear, but he would emerge at a different point than Rob, and it would take him too long to rendezvous, so when he arrived, he would have to land planet-side to give his captive some air.

The second the vector was locked in, Fox punched it. All around him, other vessels did the same, and the streak of his warp was lost amidst all the others as they hit warp like a group of flaring stars.


	15. Chapter 15

**General Peppy**

The sound of Peppy's footfalls as his pristinely shined boots struck the hard, marbled floors of the vaulted halls leading through Parliament and to the Congressional Chambers of the Council echoed loudly as he furiously marched toward the large, ornate double doors leading to where the Council was currently convened. He could just barely hear voices coming from the chamber as he approached, as they were still far off and muffled by the six inches of Cornerian oak the doors had been carved from over a century ago, when the chambers had first been constructed as a symbol of Cornaria's unification. The planet's technology had reached an epoch, and decades of peace between nations, although sometimes tenuous, had allowed for the world to come together under a single but powerful belief, that Corneria was destined to unite all of Lylat. It was known plainly a Manifest Destiny, and it lead the world's inhabitants in a joint effort to spread to the stars, and bring with them the _enlightenment_ of Cornerian society to the other, far more underdeveloped worlds of Lylat. It had been the marking of the end of an era, as the world's twelve nations converged under one banner, each electing a representative from among their most prestigious noble families to speak for them on the newly established Corearian Council in the _Treastie Ou Manifestia,_ or Treaty of the Manifest.

Like all 'prestigious' documents, the treaty had been written in Canissian, an ancient language that modern Cornerian had evolved from over many long centuries. It was mostly a dead language, but was kept alive by Cornerian high society as means of maintaining a 'higher speech' to help separate themselves from the lower classes. The writing of plays, official legal documents, and religious texts in Canissian were just a few examples of the nobility maintaining its prominence in modern society.

All of it boiled down to the nobles blowing smoke up the proverbial ass of the Lylat system, in Peppy's humble opinion. He had his taste of the noble life in his youth. It had been sour as hell, and he had hoped that he had left it behind all those years ago, and yet here he was, Consulate General of the Cornerian Federation. Like any high-ranking office within Corneria's government, it could only be held by a noble…and when General Pepper was forced to retire after his injuries during the Appariod Invasion, and the ensuing sickness that it caused, he had come to him of all people. Peppy, though he preferred to keep it quiet, was…_technically_, still nobility.

He was born Peppy Montressor Redding Von Hare, and was a lower-class member of House Redding. His father, Edmond Hare had been an abundantly wealthy business owner in his day, and had fallen in love with Peppy's mother, Victoria Redding, cousin to the leading member of the Redding noble house. At the time, House Redding had fallen on hard times, and so allowed Edmond and Victoria to wed so that their coffers might be bolstered by his father's vast fortune. He bore his father's surname, as was tradition, but Redding Von Hare meant that he was still considered a member of the nobility.

Unfortunately, assuming the office of Commander and Chief of Corneria's military meant he had to do so under the name of his noble family, and so rather than being General Peppy Hare, he was Consulate General Redding, a pointless detail that only served to inflate the collective noble ego. There had been some resistance to his appointment in the council, but Peppy had distinguished himself, and therefore his house, during the assault on the Appariod home world, and so the entirety of House Redding had backed his appointment to the highly prestigious office of Consulate General, and swept aside what little opposition there had been at the time.

Truth be told, he had always been at odds with his heritage. Corneria tried to pass itself off as some sort of benefactor to all of Lylat, a Republic of the People leading the system in some sort of golden era that only the upper echelons seemed to believe existed. In point of fact, Corneria's expansion hadn't been peaceful. Worlds too underdeveloped to put up any sort of resistance were simply annexed, while the few planets that tried to resist were easily 'subdued' by Corneria's superior technology. In the end, the only worlds not brought into the Federation were those with no strategic value, and the governing body was less of a republic and more of an oligarchy, as a stark cast system divided the select few allowed to govern from the masses of common people throughout the Lylat system. It was a useless, antiquated system, which had somehow managed to survive from Corneria's past, to be inherited by all of Lylat at its present. Many people believed that each world should be allowed to elect its own representative to speak on the council. It was a wide-spread issue that continuously resurfaced over the years in some form or another, and Peppy often felt he found himself on the wrong side of the fence.

Like many low-standing nobles, when he turned eighteen, he had joined the Fleet as an officer, and worked his way up the ranks to Captain of his own ship, the CFS Venture…upon which he met James, then a fresh lieutenant just out of flight school and the prodigy of the Cornerian Military Academy. It hadn't taken long for them to become fast friends, despite the differences in their ranks.

Peppy stopped as he approached the twin oak doors, pausing to sigh and think, _James, old friend, I wish you were here instead of me…you'd know exactly what to do._

He took a deep breath, gathered himself, and pulled the doors open wide, angrily storming into the large, multi-leveled chamber of Corneria's most powerful individuals. The twelve Councilors sat at the top of a tall, curved balcony that hung over the chamber floor, and all around rows of seats with all manner of the mammalian races of Cornerian nobles and government officials steadily rose from the lowest at nearly ground level near the chamber floor, to the highest at the far walls of the chamber, and standing on the Council floor itself was a well groomed young ape, looking like the persona of professionalism himself in his formal attire, none other than Dash Bowman, Governor of Venom.

"Gentlemen, I understand your concern, but placing the entire system under a veritable lockdown is only going to create further…" Bowman was saying as Peppy made his entrance, cutting himself off to turn and see who had just entered. He looked a bit relieved to see him as he momentarily turned his back to the council to greet Peppy.

"Ah," Dash whispered in greeting, flashing a brief, but welcoming smile, "Now here is someone who will listen to reason! I assume you're here for about the same reason as I am?"

Peppy just nodded curtly, ready to address the Council as soon as Bowman said his piece. In the meantime, he would have wait, as only one person was allowed to hold the floor at a time.

"Governor Bowman," Counselor Balefort, an old, scrawny ferret with a permanent, condescending scowl chiseled into his face addressed Dash, "Getting _back_ to the issue at hand…"

"Yes, of course," Bowman politely replied, turning to face the row of Councilors one again, "As I was saying, all Corneria is doing by forcibly securing the system is creating further tension throughout every other world in Lylat. What with the past responses to tactics such as this, as well as the growing numbers of dissenters in the system, one would think we would want to handle this situation more tactfully-"

"Do you have ANY idea of the significance of what that convoy was carrying?" came the stern voice of Councilor Gregory Cromwell.

"No, I have no idea," Dash responded, calm but the slightest bit flippantly, "In fact, other than yourselves and the esteemed general here, no one in this room was even aware of the convoy's existence until LNS blared the story across the every televid in the system. Considering the _significance_ of whatever that may have been, I'd say that's quite the breach of security. Wouldn't you? And shouldn't there have been greater security provided? Why the CDF was entrusted with this, rather than the Fleet, I have to say, I'm at a loss…"

Cromwell curled an indignant lip, but kept his peace for the moment.

"Information regarding that convoy AND its contents was of the highest POSSIBLE security," Balefort stepped in, "and whatever parties were involved in its dissemination WILL be found and SEVERELY punished!"

Each counselor, in addition to their duties on the council, was appointed as heads of specific branches of the government. Along with other related organizations, Balefort was the Chief Executive of the Consulate Intelligence Agency, and allowing this sort of thing to happen reflected poorly upon his position. Cromwell, similarly, was Director of the CDF, who had been in charge of assuring the convoy's safe travel between Macbeth and Titania. He had been the one to hire Leon Powalski as an escort, but Peppy had gotten wind of it, and pulled strings to have Falco hired instead…an action that had drawn serious flack from Cromwell both before the convoy left, and especially after it had been hijacked.

The two already didn't get along. Cromwell had wanted Pepper's position from the moment the general's abilities to serve in office had been called into question, and had been the central figure in the council's resistance to Peppy's appointment. He had taken up position as Director of the CDF shortly after the Defense Force had been all but wiped out during the Apparoid Invasion, and had restructured it from a relatively simple interplanetary police force, to what amounted to a private military branch of the Council, and ever since he failed to bar Peppy from office, he had endeavored to provided nothing but opposition on every possible issue, using the CDF to interfere in duties normally left up to the military, claiming credit for every slight success, and attempting to discredit Peppy's command at every available opportunity. The other council members mostly kept him in check, though, and so long as Peppy kept a thick skin, he was easy enough to deal with.

"But does every planet in Lylat space need to be punished while you search for them?" Dash asked, pointedly, "You must understand the impact these _blockades_ are having on interplanetary commerce alone, much less-"

"And you would do well to remember that without _our_ backing, Venom would be nothing but farmland and penal colonies," another councilor, Jamison McDougal, the head of Treasury, interrupted, "The territories will simply have to endure while we search for these hijackers, and the item that they stole. Until that time, Venom will remain in security one status along with the rest of Lylat! This is the council's FINAL decision!"

"Will there be anything else, Governor?" Balefort impatiently asked after a brief silence.

"No, nothing further," Bowman resigned. Peppy knew he was far angrier than he was letting on, but if there was one thing the relatively young politician had a talent for, it was keeping his composure.

"Then this session is dismissed. All present parties please excuse us as the council convenes privately with its general," Councilor Jacob Stark, a middle-aged canine announced. Stark was the youngest member on the council, and was one of its more even tempered and sensible members. He and Peppy got along well enough, in comparison to some of the others.

Dash turned to leave without another word to the council, his face an unreadable mask devoid of any sign of emotion until his back was to the council's balcony, and only Peppy could see him clearly. He then rolled his eyes and frowned, whispering, "I hope you have better luck with these old fools than I just did," to Peppy as he passed him and took his leave.

Peppy walked out onto the chamber floor and stood sternly with his hands folded behind his back while he waited for all but himself and the members of the council to leave the room. Once they were alone, and the doors were all sealed, CIA agents posted at each exit produced tiny devices from their blouse pockets, and activated them. There was a barely detectable, high pitched whine, and then silence as all ambient noise disappeared, and the room became soundproof to the outside.

"I find myself surprised you have the audacity to show your face here, recent events being taken into consideration," Cromwell said, making sure he was the first to speak.

"Enough Cromwell," Balefort cut in before Peppy could respond, "the General has been cleared of the allegations you brought against him, and I, for one, am tired of the two of your _exchanges_ on the matter. Let the issue drop, for God's sake!"

"Tch!" was all Cromwell gave as a response, waving a hand dismissively at his fellow councilor, but saying nothing more.

"Now then," Stark said, addressing Peppy, "We're here to discuss the matter of Fox McCloud. General, you have had extensive experience with this man, both as his mentor and former comrade. This council is in need of any and all information on McCloud you are in possession of."

"You said as much in your summons," Peppy stated, "but what I don't understand is what I can possibly tell you that you all aren't able to dig up on your own."

"We have a great deal of information pertaining to McCloud, that's true, but we all lack something that you posses," Balefort intoned, analytically "and that is experience with the man himself. You know him. You can provide insight into his actions thus far, and aid in the prediction of what he may do in the future, thus increasing the likelihood of his capture. Your cooperation in this matter is highly advised, general. As I said, my agency's investigations proved that you were not involved with McCloud's recent activities, however, you are still under a great deal of scrutiny, and withholding information from this council that may aid in recovery of the convoy's cargo may still be considered aiding the criminal Fox McCloud."

"Which, of course, would be treason," Cromwell added with satisfaction.

Peppy ignored the last comment, but looked up at each of the counselors before him as he said, "Gentlemen, before we get into that, I have a grievance to bring before the council."

A few councilors whispered amongst themselves as he stood his ground, waiting to be acknowledged, but they were quieted by Councilor Jacques Touvier, the oldest member currently serving on the council, as he raised a thin, time weathered hand to silence them.

"Speak your mind general, this council will hear your grievances," Touvier said in a soft, wavering voice. He was a quite man, at times going entire sessions without saying so much as a single word, but when he did speak, it was to the rapt attentions of all who were present. Councilors, in the midst of their most fervent rantings, had been known to stop themselves mid-sentence with just the slightest wave of this mans hand.

Peppy nodded to the councilor respectfully, then continued.

"I'm speaking in reference to this council's decision to deploy an entire CDF fleet to the Sargasso region," Peppy said, "The dispatch of those forces without so much as informing me of your intentions was not only reckless in the extreme, but it may well have caused far more damage to the current situation than any of you may realize."

"The Defense Force does not answer to the Consulate General's authority!" Cromwell barked, angrily, "It was this council's decision to dispatch them, and I was both willing and able to comply."

"That region of space is home to some of Lylat's most violent and dangerous individuals," Peppy said, but was again interrupted by Cromwell.

"And that is precisely why it had to be secured!"

"Over one thousand of these individuals responded to your show of force by fleeing the region before your forces could properly secure it," Peppy resolutely drove onward, "and are now at large throughout Lylat, as apposed to being corralled into Sargasso. Tell me, gentlemen, how much damage do you think these criminals are going to inflict upon the planets they flee to before they are caught? IF they are caught!"

Balefort scowled down at him and said, "We understood that risk before we ever dispatched the CDF task force, but there was a high probability that the hijackers would at least pass though the region, and so it had to be secured without a moment's delay. The potential fallout was far outweighed by even the chance that the Cipher could be recovered by such action."

Peppy just shook his head angrily.

"Councilor, you have numerous agents infiltrating Sargasso! Wouldn't it have been easier to simply wait for the Cipher to pass through the region, and intercept it?" he asked.

"This isn't about simply recovering what was stolen," Cromwell stepped in, "it's about setting an example. We cannot allow a repeat of the events leading to the Lylat Civil War, and so the territories must be taught the consequences of treasonous action against Corneria! Sargasso has been a haven for dissenters and anarchists alike for decades, a symbol of defiance against the council, and it was time to shatter that symbol once and for all!"

Several other councilors nodded or voiced their agreement, while a select few kept silent.

Touvier quieted them once again, and sighed wearily as he addressed Peppy again.

"We understand your concern on the matter, general, but despite Cromwell's, perhaps overzealous methods in securing Sargasso, the situation is currently under control," the elderly councilor assured. Cromwell sneered at being called overzealous, but knew better than to challenge Touvier's assessment.

"I assure you," he continued, ponderously, "once this crisis has been resolved, we will focus our attention on soothing the wounds caused by our actions, but for the moment, we must give the entirety of our attentions to recovering the Cipher before it falls into the hands of those who would use it against us once again."

Peppy took a moment to mull over Touvier's words before reluctantly nodding his agreement. The last time the cipher had been lost, it had given a disastrous advantage to Androsse's forces during the Lylat Civil War. In and of itself, the cipher was little more than a guide, but to those who knew how to follow it…

"Let us move on to the reason you were summoned, starting with what we already know about McCloud," Councilor Stark spoke up, turning to Balefort and addressing him to continue.

The old ferret cleared his throat and said, "We know he was the son of Captain James McCloud, formerly of the Cornarian Federation Fleet. We also know that upon graduation of primary school, he entered the Cornerian Military Academy. During his time there, McCloud achieved top scores on assessments in his studies, fitness, martial skills, and comprehension of military tactics and procedure. By the end of his first year, Fox McCloud had already been placed under review for indoctrination to the Cornarian Special Forces upon his graduation…a true prodigy."

"Like his father," Touvier mused, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, well, apples and trees, and all that nonsense," Balefort continued, "As I was saying, Fox dropped out of the academy and relinquished his commission after the death of his father, James McCloud, at which point he turned to you, General Peppy, to complete his training, and follow in his father's footsteps as a mercenary…"

"A pity," Councilor Stark said, rifling through the dossier each councilor had placed in front of them, "It seems he could have been a real asset."

"With all due respect, counselor," Peppy returned, "I believe he proved to be an excellent asset to Corneria on several occasions."

"Until now," Cromwell cut in, "now he has become nothing more than a criminal, a thorn in our side that must be removed at all cost!"

"Watch your wording, Cromwell," Peppy warned, eyes locked oh his in a cold warning, "Fox may have made a few mistakes, but that isn't enough to condemn him. We need to bring him in to face trial."

"We need to do whatever is in the best interest of Lylat as a whole," another councilor spoke up for the first time. It was Roderick Killenger, chief magistrate of internal affairs. "If that happens to be bringing McCloud to justice, then so be it, but we will do what we must to assure the continued stability of the Cornerian Federation."

Peppy bit his tongue.

Balefort waited for the others to quiet down before continuing his report.

"As the general said, McCloud and his men proved to be instrumental in turning the tide of the Lylat Civil War, and came to Corneria's defense repeatedly in the years after. However, his service was never altogether altruistic, as each time he gave assistance to Corneria, it came at the price of exorbitant sums of money."

"Agreed," Councilor McDougal grumbled, rolling his eyes. As Head of Treasury, the yearly budgeting of the federal government, as well as any large additional transactions, required his signature for approval. Over the years, he had likely seen more credits than he would like leave the federal coffers to pay off team StarFox's _assistance_.

"What's your point?" Peppy asked.

"My point, general, is that his past services to Corneria were mercenary in nature, and therefore cannot, and will not afford him any leniency on our behalf," Balefort answered, "if caught, McCloud will be tried as criminal, not a war hero. Do you understand?"

Peppy was furious. Fox had gone above and beyond the call of duty countless times on Corneria's behalf, and his fees had always reflected logical assessment of services rendered, and had often factored large discounts on the government's behalf, simply to aid in their recovery. Had he not intervened on their behalf on one of any number of occasions, the price to Corneria would have been far steeper than any of these pampered politicians could likely comprehend.

He just sighed and shook his head. Unfortunately, they wouldn't listen even if they did understand.

"I won't comment there, gentlemen, other than to say you don't know the man like I do," Peppy said after he got his temper under control, "Now, what is it you need to know?"

"Why, in your opinion, has Fox turned on Corneria?" Stark asked, careful with his tone to show that it was an honest question, and not an accusation, "Was this simply due to his nature as a soldier for hire, or do you believe he has come to harbor some sort of grudge against us for whatever reason?"

Peppy weighed the question seriously. Fox didn't seem like the type to hold a grudge to most people, but he knew him better than most. It wasn't that Fox wouldn't hold a grudge. It was just that getting to him badly enough that he would was extremely difficult. He wasn't an emotional individual by any definition. He was analytically minded. He didn't see problems or troubles, he saw obstacles and errors, analyzed situations, and produced viable solutions.

This wasn't to say that Fox was just a machine, but he hadn't had an easy upbringing. His mother had died when he was young, and his father had always been away, so he had grown to be rather independent, and somewhat reclusive in nature. He had idolized his father, and what time they did spend together was what had kept Fox together. By the time he had reached his teens, the tow had been so much alike it was almost eerie. The only difference was that James had been a warm, friendly individual, while Fox had come to be somewhat cold and standoffish. Still, if you knew him well enough, Fox could open up, and he was every bit as great as his father, though Peppy never could get Fox to believe it.

"To be honest," Peppy said, "I'm not entirely sure what could be driving him right now, but I can venture a guess."

"Proceed," Councilor Touvier said, stifling any other commentary that may have arisen.

"Fox idolized his father, and still does," he continued, "He also blames himself for James' death."

"What are you driving at?" Cromwell asked, impatiently.

Peppy closed his eyes as he said, "The Progenitor Research Project."

The room became deathly quiet as those words seemed to hover in the air.

"Everyone here is aware of James McCloud's involvement, am I correct?"

All nods.

"I believe it may be possible that Fox has somehow learned of it as well," Peppy said, opening his eyes to reveal a somber expression, "It is impossible to know how much, if anything, he knows, but if he knows his father was involved, then it would explain his involvement in an attack on a convoy carrying the Cipher. He may well be looking for answers."

"Answers he cannot be allowed to find," Balefort stated.

"If you are truly concerned for McCloud's safety, Hare, then it would be _wise_ to assist in his capture," Cromwell hissed, "If he learns too much, we will have no choice but to silence him…" a slight grin played at the councilor's mouth as he said, "permanently."

Peppy felt his blood boil, and his hands tightened into fists. He was ready to climb up there and beat that son of a bitch to death with his bare hands, but Stark spoke first.

"Cromwell! You will address the general with the respect due his station, or you will be censured for the duration of this meeting!" Councilor Stark boomed, coming to his feet.

"I would relish seeing your attempt!" Cromwell returned, remaining seated with a confident smile. Censuring a councilor required a majority vote of seven or more other councilors, and Cromwell had four who openly backed him at all times, Councilors Helen, Uther, Ortega, and Vanderbeak, who rarely even spoke if not in compliment to Cromwell, so it would require the remaining seven to all agree to his censorship for him to be expelled from the meeting, an unlikely circumstance at best.

"That will be quite enough of that," Touvier said, softly bringing the conflict to a temporary cessation, "What do suggest we do, general? We cannot allow young McCloud to roam Lylat as he pleases, especially if he is in possession of information regarding that project. However, we are willing to hear alternate solutions to eliminating him, if you have a means of assuring his safe capture."

Peppy thought for a moment. He didn't want to betray Fox, but at the same time, whether he knew it or not, Fox was placing himself in serious danger by getting involved in all this. The only way Peppy could keep him safe was to make sure he was captured, by Peppy's forces, not Cromwell's. Fox would face trial, and probably a harsh sentence, but he would be safe, and Peppy had a promise to keep with the man's father…he'd promised to protect Fox…no matter what.

For the moment he needed to track Fox down, and at the same time, he needed to keep Cromwell busy, and a wild goose chase seemed a fitting way to do it.

"Falco Lombardi," Peppy said, "You have him detained on Titania."

"And?" Cromwell asked, defensively.

"Release him," Peppy stated, flatly.

"Ridiculous!" Cromwell nearly laughed, "He is a lead suspect in the hijacking!"

"He's innocent," Peppy continued, "but more importantly, if I know Falco, he wants to find Fox and figure out what the hell is going on. If you let him go, he may well lead you to him."

It was a bluff. Falco's chances of tracking down Fox were dismal at best, but it sounded like a good plan, and it would both keep the CDFBI and the CIA busy following him while Peppy endeavored to find Fox himself, as well as free Falco from wrongful imprisonment.

"A sound plan," Balefort said after a moment. He turned to Cromwell and said, "Have it done immediately. Place tracking devices on his ship and his belongings, and I will have agents shadow him wherever he goes. If the general is correct, then this situation may well be on its way to a resolution."

Several other council members voiced their agreement, with the exception of Cromwell, who simply gave a reluctant nod, and Touvier, who looked at him from behind his ancient, but still piercingly intelligent eyes, with a look of both curiosity, and understanding.

"So be it," Touvier said, "We will adjourn for now. Thank you for your assistance, General. We will call on you in future, when we have further need of you."

Peppy nodded his understanding, pivoted sharply, and made for the door. The councilors began talking amongst themselves as he left, two CIA agents pulling the double doors open for him as he passed. He had a lot of work ahead of him, and he was going to have to work fast.


	16. Chapter 16

**Falco**

This didn't make any sense. One minute they're threatening him, trying to bribe him, telling him he'll never see the light of day again, and the next they dump all of his stuff at his feet and tell him he's free to go. He didn't like it. It just didn't sit right…

"What do you make of it?" Falco asked through his earpiece.

Katt, in a different holding block somewhere in the facility, replied, "Beats me. I'm kinda disappointed though. We never got to make our great escape!"

That sure as hell didn't upset Falco. Katt's 'plan' had been to lure a guard in with her _feminine wiles_, incapacitate him, and from there somehow came to involve the illicit wear of his uniform, Falco's lucky card, air ducts, and the unorthodox use of a hairpin…among other things.

"But hey! We're free, aren't we?" Katt perked up, "Let's make the best of it! Of course, my ship's still totaled…"

"We'll both have to take mine," Falco said, "It's gonna be a bit cramped, but-"

"I'll be in your lap the whole way!" Kat teased, "How shameless…"

Falco blushed. "Yeah well, it ain't like you won't enjoy it," he shot back, grinning to himself, and thinking he was clever.

Katt giggled, saying, "Don't try and act cool! I bet you're blushing."

He blushed a little deeper and hated himself for it.

"Just grab your shit and meet me at the ship," he grumbled, "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to get the hell out of this dump."

He reached up and tapped his earpiece, shutting it off. He wasn't sure he like how easy it seemed be for her to read him. _I mean, we go back a ways, sure, _he thought, and they'd been flying together for a few years now, but the thought of someone being so…familiar with him…it just made him uncomfortable.

He sorted though his gear as he thought, strapping his utility belt around his waist and checking its pouches to make sure nothing was missing.

The closest he'd ever really gotten to anyone was Fox. Hell, the two of them were brothers as far as Falco was concerned, and even Fox knew to give him some space every once in a while. Katt, on the other hand, chased him from one end of the star system to the other before he'd agreed to team up with her, and she hadn't left his side for longer than a few hours ever since, like she was afraid if she let him go, he'd never come back. The thing was, though he refused to admit it to her, he'd come to like having her around. It was…kinda nice.

He shook it off, shouldering his side holsters on, jamming a pistol in each one, and walking out the door. He passed a few soldiers in the hallway, permanent personnel, probably stationed here to guard the installation. A few nodded respectfully, but most either stared or ignored him. The CDF officers, however, all seemed to eye him with suspicion, like he could pounce at any moment, and of the two, there were way more CDF swarming around the place then there were fleet forces. Frankly, it put Falco on edge. His days of living on the wrong side of the law were long behind him, but he was still uncomfortable around law types. He did his best to just ignore them, and kept walking.

His fighter was parked on a pad outside, and the exit was just up ahead. He was a suspect, and the CDF was just letting him walk right out the door. Something had to be wrong here. They didn't just let people go like this. No trials, no warning, not even an explanation, just a de-briefing, a bullshit interrogation, and then release…

He reached the door and hit a button to open it. The second he did, it slid smoothly out of the way, and hot, dry desert air flooded past him, drawn into the cooler corridor of the air conditioned facility. The sun was at his back as he walked out toward his ship, and it beat down on him like a hammer. He could see his Skyclaw not too far ahead of him, but it wavered and rippled from the heat rising off the concrete and steel of the launch pad, and leaning against it with her hands clasped behind her back and her flight suit rolled down at the waist was Katt, tail swishing playfully back and forth as she waited for him.

"You know, it's not polite to keep a lady waiting," she called as Falco came near.

He just shrugged and said, "You see a lady, you let me know."

Her eyebrow twitched, and just as he passed her she whacked him in the back of the head.

"Ow!" Falco shouted, "The hell was that for?!"

"I'm more of a lady than a feather-brained idiot like you deserves, jerk!" she shot.

"Apparently I don't deserve much," he grumbled under his breath. He intentionally made it loud enough for her to hear, but was up the wing and into the cockpit before she could take another swing.

"Ya commin?" he called down.

She stood there pouting for a moment, then marched up the wing and tossed herself into the cockpit, landing on top of him as roughly as possible. She gave a little smirk at Falco's 'Ooph!' and then gently nestled into his lap, laying at a slanted angle across him with her legs crossed so he could see past her, and resting an arm comfortably around his neck…for stability.

"Comfy?" Falco asked, sarcastically, trying not to blush again.

Katt just shot him a mischievous glance, and smiled.

"Don't act like you don't enjoy it," she purred.

He couldn't help but smile too. She was right, it wasn't the worst way to travel.

"Yeah well, let's get out of here already. We've gotta hit up a few people, try and get a lead on where Fox might be, and while we're at it, we need to get you a new ship."

"That's going to take a nice chuck out of our retirement fund," Katt complained.

Falco started up the engines, sand blowing out from underneath the Skyclaw in a wide plume as it rose off the pad and its systems all whirred to life.

"So?" he said, "I ain't exactly planning on retiring anytime soon. Are you?"

A forward push on the throttle sent the fighter shooting forward and skyward as he pulled back on the stick.

"Maybe…someday," Katt said, quietly and with an unusual bashfulness. She stared off absently for a moment, then refocused, finishing with, "but not just yet, anyway."

He wasn't following, so he just chalked it up to Katt being Katt, and started laying in an approach vector for the gate. The blue sky grew darker, and stars appeared a few at a time, the in clusters as they left Titania's atmo.

As they approached the gate a patrol of CDF fighters whizzed by within visual range, making for the night side of the planet. The gate itself was surrounded with Defense Forces, with several fighter groups keeping within immediate response range, and a carrier group positioned in a protective ring around the great orbital structure.

Falco transmitted his vector and destination to the gate authority, but was immediately answered with a curt _DENIED_.

His com chirped and Pliker's voice came across.

"Mr. Lombardi, I apologize for any inconvenience, but this gate is to remain closed to all but CDF and Fleet forces," he said in his aggravatingly snobbish Cornarian accent, "you are cleared to leave the system, but I'm afraid you will have to do so via your warp drives. You understand, of course."

"Fuck off," Falco responded, switching the com off and laying a warp course into his ship's navigation systems. An instant transmission by gate was up to an hour of warp travel, and that bastard knew it.

"Where are we headed?" Katt asked.

"Aquas."

"Aquas?" she frowned, "Why? There's no way Fox would run there."

"I know, but like I said, you need a new ship," Falco answered, "Slippy's got a job workin' for Space Dynamics, and their ship yards are in orbit there. I figure he might be able to hook us up with something."

"Ooh, good thinking!" Katt said, sounding pleased with the idea, "It couldn't hurt to ask him if he knows anything about Fox while we're at it, either."

"I doubt he knows anything more than we do, but you're right, it couldn't hurt. Anyway, the jump is gonna take us about thirty minutes if we slingshot around solar."

Most people would take two, straight jumps to get around large obstacles in warp, but, if you knew what you were doing, you could use strong gravity wells to curve your trajectory mid-warp. It was hell on the nav. systems, and a slip-up usually meant coming out of warp at an unpredictable location, at best, open space, at worst, crashing into something big and solid, but Falco wasn't worried. He was a friggin' champ at curving, and could play navigation systems like a fiddle.

"You know, Amanda probably won't appreciate us dropping in unannounced," Katt warned.

"Amanda wouldn't appreciate me dropping in at all, announced or not," Falco said, rolling his eyes and warming up the warp drive, "I'm hoping to catch Slippy at work so we don't have to deal with her."

Katt giggled.

"Is the Great Falco Lombardi running from a fight…with a _woman_?" she teased.

Falco sighed.

"Tell me, do all women intimidate you?" she went on, "or is it just Slippy's wife?"

"I ain't running form anything, and women don't _intimidate_ me at all," he answered, pulling her in close with one arm and holding her tight with a wolfish grin as he continued with, "Need proof?"

"Oh, I think I do," she answered, coyly, not being one to back down from a challenge, "Now how about we hit warp and free up those hands of yours?"

Falco was more than happy to oblige, priming the drives and punching it in one fluid motion. Katt reached up and kissed him hard as they rocketed forward, and their ship disappeared into the privacy of warp.


	17. Chapter 17

Slippy

Battlefield: Venom. Ahead lay the forces of Andross. Thousands of warships, countless fighters, and a vicious array of defence stations all barred his way in a desperate last stand. Undeterred and thrusters a maximum, ace pilot Slippy Toad barreled bravely toward his foe! Enemy fighters scattered and fled at the onslaught of his arwing's guns as, one after another, they were reduced to glowing slag. Some tried to resist, but to no avail!

From his left, a dozen Harlock-class frigates unleashed a deadly spray of fire, each shot enough to tear through his tiny fighter's shields and obliterate him, but he was unafraid! He turned to face the peril, dodging and rolling until he came within range and unleashed a deadly nova bomb with surgical precision, destroying the lead ships as three more fell to his lasers! There was no stopping THIS toad!

"You're amazing!" Falco's voice came over the com, "I wish I was HALF the pilot you are Slippy!"

No time for praise. Slippy continued his advance, laying waste to all that stood in his way. Soon, he broke through the last lines of Venom's defenses. It was a clear shot for Andross, but wait! From the planet's surface, several ships were closing fast. It could only be...Star Wolf!

"We'll never let you reach Andross! Prepare to die!" O'Donnel proclaimed as he and his lackeys prepared to attack.

"You can't take them all alone! We're coming to back you up!" Fox said.

"No need," he answered, "Stay up there and mop up Androsse's forces, these guys are mine." He turned to face his foe, prepared for the dogfight of the century! Wolf wouldn't know what hit him...

"Slippy!" a female voice cut shrilly across the com.

"Amanda?" Slippy asked, confused. It didn't sound like Amanda, but who...?

"Slippy Toad, wake up!" The voice demanded.

Slippy's eyes popped open and he sat straight up. He was in his office, a small puddle of drool pooled up where his face had just been resting on the desk, just beneath the glowing holographic schematics he had been going over what seemed like a moment ago. People were hustling and bustling about busily between their cubicles outside, and his boss, a relatively young Cornerian, Miss Tonya Goldbloom, was standing at his door, tapping her foot impatiently.

"This is the third time I've caught you asleep on the job in the last week Mr. Toad! You're father got you hired here, and you've got good credentials, but so help me, if you keep this up, I'll have you fired by the end of the month! Do you understand?" She snapped.

"Y-yes Miss. Goldbloom!" Slippy stammered, "Sorry Miss. Goldbloom."

She rolled her eyes and marched up to his desk. "How are you coming with that report on the new fighter's subsystems? I have a meeting in an hour, and I need something to throw to the big wigs."

Slippy scrambled to re-organize the holo-forms he had been sleeping on. He had nearly been done with the report when he'd dozed off. He looked up at the clock and blushed. That had been almost an hour ago.

"I just need a f-few more minutes ma-am," he answered.

"Make it fast," she said, turning to leave, "I swear, if you weren't Beltino's boy you'd have never made it in here."

With that, she was gone, at least for the moment. She would be back to get the report soon, and she would be irate if it wasn't done, so Slippy went back to sorting through data and typing. He hated it here. All he did was type, go over schematics, and get yelled at. Sure, a small fraction of his time was actually spent helping with design and engineering, and that was enjoyable, but the rest was spent here...in an office.

He longed to be head to toe in parts, covered to the elbows in grease, and working on the finest machinery in Lylat. He missed his days of travel and adventure, cruising among the stars, righting wrongs, fulfilling contracts...but he was a family man now. He had mouths to feed, and a home to pay for. Not that he was ungrateful. He loved his wife and children, he had two sons now, with a little girl on the way, and he would do whatever it took to give them a good, stable life. His father had worked hard to get him a job working for Space Dynamics, the premiere aerospace manufacturing company in Corneria, and the pay was good. Slippy just didn't know if he was cut out for this. He had thought working for the designers of the arwing would be a real blast, but the amount of paperwork involved coupled with the attitudes of his co-workers proved to be more than enough to ensure that no fun would be had on the corporate clock whatsoever.

The silver lining was that he was involved with the design of the SD/X-7, a fighter prototype that promised to surpass the arwing! It would be the next great star fighter of Slippy's time, and he had a front row seat on its development! He had personally assisted in the design of the maneuvering and shield systems. Both had required several ingenuitive 'tweaks' due to the nature of some of its revolutionary sub systems, and he had risen more than adequately to the challenge of harmonizing the design. There was one thing that bothered him though. He had hoped that by working here he could meet the people behind the invention of the G-diffuser and nova bomb technology, both of which had first appeared as Space Dynamics trademarks, but so far he hadn't heard so much as a name accredited to either project, or of any project at all! Both were revolutionary breakthroughs when they had first appeared just a few years before the Lylat Civil War, so why was everything involved so hush-hush? It's not like it was a trade secret for Space Dynamics anymore. The company behind the Wolfen class fighter apparently had access to the technology as well.

Another thing that bothered him was the lack in advancement involving both technologies that had occurred over the last decade. The G-diffuser they were building the X-7 around was a carbon copy of the ones that had been used in every single model of the arwing to date. The only variations he had ever seen were the mass-produced models used in most standard military fighters, and those tended to be…problematic. The early adaptations suffered from power fluctuations, intermittent functionality, and, in a few rare cases, overloading which lead to the destruction of whatever vessel they were installed in. These problems rarely cropped up these days, but the performance of the mass produced models was still very limited when compared to the ones Space Dynamics placed in its top-of-the-line models.

Slippy starred absently off in thought for a moment before he caught himself, and got back to writing. The report was tedious work, being the third of its kind he'd had to write in the last week, but he was mostly done, and after about half an hour it was ready to be sent off. He saved the file, and immediately sent it to Miss. Goldbloom's terminal. He could see her through her office's window as she opened the file, gave it a once over, and after a few moments of tweaking and hand motions as she manipulated her terminal, she stood and walked out of her office. She moved with the telltale half march, half glide of feigned confidence that most successful businessmen and women had mastered early in their careers, went through the two big double doors leading to the conference room, and was gone.

Everyone on the floor seemed to relax at once, as if they had all been holding their breath, and her departure had been the unanimous signal to breath easy again. As for himself, Slippy stood, stretched, and walked out of his own office. It was about three thirty, so the day was almost over, assuming the meeting went well. He hadn't taken his coffee break yet, and he didn't want to get caught taking another nap, so he decided now would be a good time to go grab a cup. He got a few greetings as he left the department, and returned them without stopping. He was terrible at small talk, and, for the most part, stopping meant having to do just that. He made his way through the metropolis of cubicles until he reached the elevator at the far side of the building. He was up on the twentieth floor, so the ride down took a few minutes, then it was across the lobby and out the door.

Once outside the building, the rest of the city sprawled out in all directions. Looking up, he could see the star-filled vista of the massive, crystalline dome that covered the upper level of the city. Space Dynamics was headquartered out of Basillica, the crowning jewel of Lylat's fleet of space colonies. It orbited Aquas at about two hundred miles above the surface, and was adjacent to the many orbital factories and star docks that comprised Aquas's booming ship manufacturing businesses. Basillica's population numbered at about 5.2 million people, with many others commuting between the orbital city and the surface for work, which was exactly what Slippy had to do day after day.

Levi-cars whirred across the streets, and bunched together at traffic lights in all directions as people of all sorts walked alongside them and hurried in and out of buildings. The Space Dynamics building was smack in the middle of Redding Square, central Basillica, upper level. It was the busiest part of one of the busiest cities in the system, and navigating it was a daily nightmare for Slippy. Things were relatively calm at the moment, as work hours hadn't ended yet, so he walked without having to contend with any really big crowds, which was good. He hated the city, he really did. Back in the day, he loved visiting cities all over Lylat. It was always a chance to unwind, have fun, see some cool stuff, and blow some hard-earned credits, but now all it meant was traffic, mean people, and stress.

He sighed ruefully as he walked. His favorite coffee shop was less than a block away from work, which he was grateful for. Otherwise, he probably wouldn't go for fear of getting lost, and being late getting back to the office. He could see it ahead, the large sign above its door reading '_Ole Nox'_ with a hologram of a flickering candle flame dancing between the two words. It was Cornerian fancy-talk for Night Oil, or that's what he'd been told anyway, but it didn't really matter much to Slippy what the name meant. To be honest, he just liked their coffee and pastries. ESPECIALLY their pastries! He gained a little bounce in his step as he started pondering over what kind to get. Last time, he'd gotten something called a "_crem pastal" _that, at the time, looked like the most delicious thing that had ever been baked in any oven anywhere in the universe. He had taken it back to the office to eat on his break, and had nearly gotten to, but Miss Goldbloom had burst into his office right after he'd walked in and immediately started nagging him about some typo on one of his reports. Her shrill voice had startled him so badly that it had made him trip over his own feet, and he wound up landing on his pastry…

The smell of brewing coffee beans and baked goods drifted into the air as Slippy approached, wiping away the unpleasant memory. Well, to be accurate, fans were built into the café's air systems that blew the smells from inside into the air outside to lure in customers. He'd read an article about it recently. In any case, it smelled wonderful.

"Okay _crem-_thingy, round two!" he said aloud as he walked in the door. He was greeted by a plump, middle-aged woman wearing dark blue pants and a black shirt and hat with the _Ole Nox_ logo on them. She was an Aquan, so the hat rested between her eyes just like Slippy's old mechanic's hat used to.

"What can I get'cha today, hon?" she asked, greeting him with a tired smile. He could tell she didn't recognize him, even though he came in at least twice a week. There were so many people in the city, though, that he couldn't really blame her.

"I'll take a large coffee aaand _that_," he said, pointing to the _crem pastal_ after scanning over the pastry rack behind her in search of it. He didn't want to try pronouncing the name out loud because he was pretty sure he'd mess it up.

The coffee lady smiled knowingly, and nodded, going back to the rack, and selected the one Slippy had asked for. It looked so good, that he had to fight to keep from drooling.

"Cream and sugar?" she asked, wrapping up the tasty treat and going over to the large metal coffee machines.

Slippy nodded vigorously, saying "yes ma'am," as politely as though he were talking to his own mother. This made the woman chuckle.

The machine hissed as the fragrant black liquid poured into the foam cup she held beneath its spout, and it was soon followed by a steam of silky white, sweetened cream which mixed together with the coffee to form the saving grace of Slippy's day. The coffee lady then snapped a lid onto the cup and set it down beside his pastry on the counter.

"That'll be five fifty-three," she said, indicating toward the pay pad on Slippy's side of the counter. He pulled out his cred-card and swiped it across the pad in one fluid, thoroughly practiced motion. He liked to think he was almost as good at drawing his cred-card as Fox was at drawing a blaster.

The lady thanked him and told him to have a good day, he took his coffee and his pastry and left. This time, he would eat in the lobby, so he was less likely to be interrupted. Then he could go back upstairs, into his little office, and wait for the rest of the day to go by. He stopped at a crosswalk, a few levi-cars wizzing by as the hologram across the street of a hand and the words "Don't Walk" blinked in and out of existence. He sighed and took another look at the starry sky above him, coffee in one hand, pasty in the other. "All aircraft report," he mumbled under his breath, envisioning four arwings closing into a well practiced, tight formation, the streaks of their engines tracing their movements through the sparkling blackness. _Peppy here_, his imagination continued as the hologram changed and he crossed the street, _Falco, I'm fine_, echoed his friends voice through his mind as he came up to the Space Dynamics building, and walked through the door, "Slippy, all systems green," he quietly said, smiling to himself as he sat down on a comfy sofa in the lobby and stared distantly at his feet.

"What's with the goofy grin, Slip? You didn't lose your cherry and not tell me, now did ya?" Falco's voice cut in teasingly again.

It figured, even in his imagination, Falco was teasing him.

"Really? _That's_ how you greet your friends?" a female voice he didn't quite recognize scolded, "No wonder you have so few. Besides, he has, what, two kids now? Old Slippy's probably getting more than you are."

Slippy looked up, confused.

He came face-to-face with a beak hovering about an inch from his face. It startled him. His hands clenched, hot coffee erupted out of the now crumpled foam cup, and his pastry oozed between his fingers as he yelped and jumped up, hopping from leg to leg and wagging his burned hand in the air until the shock subsided.

"F-F-Falco?" he stammered after a moment, "what are you…?" the surprise faded quickly and was replaced by anger, "Dang it! What did you do that for?"

He looked remorsefully down at what was left of his _crem pastal_, and almost cried. Falco's smug grin only lasted until a sharp 'smack!' caught him in the back of the head. Katt walked up from behind him, shot him a scolding glare, and turned to Slippy, sympathy replacing her previous expression.

"Sorry, you know how he is," She said, sweetly, "It's good to see you Slippy!"

Slippy blushed a little. He was no good at talking to women other than Amanda, but he knew Katt kind of well, so...

"Hey Katt," he said, sounding more dour than he'd intended. He shook it off. Whatever the circumstances, he hadn't seen either of them in a good while, and they were standing right in front of him, now wasn't the time to be mopy! "What brings you guys all the way here?" he said with newfound enthusiasm and a fresh smile.

"It's about Fox, Slip," Falco answered, oddly serious.

"Oh? You talked to him? How is he? Did you ask him why he hasn't-"

"Slippy!" Falco cut him off, now sounding agitated, "Please tell me you know what's going on!"

Slippy stood there, confused. What was Falco talking about?

"Did something happen?" he asked, feeling very self conscious.

Falco slapped his hand to his forehead and tilted his head back, saying "For the love of-! You're really somethin' else, ya know that?"

"Cut it out, Falco," Katt came to Slippy's defence. Still, even she seemed surprised that Slippy didn't know…whatever it was he was supposed to know.

"Slip," she continued, pausing to think for a moment, "tell you what, come with us, we'll treat you to a new cup of coffee, and tell you all about it."

She was being too sweet. Even Slippy knew what it meant when someone talked like that. His stomach sank a little as he nodded, and they all walked back out into the city together.

. . .

Slippy stared vacantly into his untouched cup of coffee. Across from him sat Katt, hands folded and a sympathetic look on her face. Falco leaned on the nearby wall of the coffeehouse with his eyes closed and a sour expression on his.

"He wouldn't do that…" Slippy said, quietly, "There's just no way. Fox…Fox isn't a criminal. I just don't believe it."

He hadn't paid any attention to the news in months. It was always so depressing, and he was so wrapped up in his work and his family…

Katt was about to speak, but Falco beat her to the punch.

"I don't like it either pal," Falco said with surprising sincerity, "that why we need your help. We aim to clear his name, and help him out of this mess, but we need to find him first. Listen, Katt's ship got totaled, so she's gonna need a new one, and if you know anything about Fox, we need to hear it."

A bit of fire crept back into Slippy's gut. "You're right!" he shouted, "If Fox is in trouble, then we need to help him! I can get us a couple of ships at cost of production, easy, and then we need to figure out what his last known location is. If we hurry-!"

"Slippy," Katt cut in, softly," You have a family to worry about. You know Amanda would never let you-"

"Dang it!" Slippy said with a firmness that startled even him a little, "Y-You let me deal with Amanda! I'm not going to sit here hiding behind a desk while my friends are out risking their lives! Not this time!"

"Slippy-" Falco tried to cut in, but failed.

"Not this time!" he repeated avidly, "I'm tired of being left behind! I'm tired of this miserable job, and I'm tired of this miserable city!" People were starting to stare, but he didn't give a hoot! He stood up and slammed his fists on the table. "D-D…DAMN it! If you want my help, then I'm coming with you!"

There was long silence, then, slowly, a proud smile spread across Falco's face as some of Slippy's fire seemed to creep into his eyes.

"Now THAT's what I'm talking about!" he said, giving three short laughs, "Looks like you've got a pair after all!"

The energy was contagious, and soon all three of them were sharing the same mischievous grin, like co-conspirators about to hatch their master plot. He felt good, too, better than he'd felt in a long time! He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to explain this to his wife, but he knew what he needed to do.

"Well, alright!" Slippy said, more than a little proud of himself, "Let's see about getting those ships!"


	18. Chapter 18

**Warren**

Warren let out a pained groan as he slipped back into consciousness. He felt heavy, and was immediately greeted by a strong pounding behind his eyes. The air around him was hot and humid, and his clothes were plastered to his skin from sweat. His vision blurred at first as he opened his eyes to look around, so he tried to bring up a hand to rub them, but couldn't. He quickly discovered that his arms and legs were strapped firmly to the uncomfortable wooden chair in which he found himself sitting. His head was foggy, but giving it a shake just made the pounding worse, and he had to grit his teeth against the pain until it returned to a dull throb. On top of everything, he ached all over, like he'd taken a beating, and then slept on a pile of rocks…pointy rocks. Taking a look around, he saw that he was in a small, wooden building, only one room. The wood panels that made the walls around him were dark and covered in patches of creeping mold, while dull, gray light streamed in though small holes in the walls and roof. Outside, some kind of insects and the like were making a hell of a racket. It occurred to him to wonder where he was, but he didn't see anyone around to ask, and he didn't expect to come up with an answer for himself, stationary as he was.

Across the room from him was another chair, turned away and facing an old wooden table. There was a jacket hanging from it, a familiar looking jacket, and a set of shades...He squinted at it for a moment, then it came back to him. Last he remembered, they were in front of Fox's ship, he got hit, then nothing.

"Son of a bitch," he cursed under his breath, wishing he'd just tossed that grenade, and tried his luck back on the Rock. On second thought, that would've just gotten him killed quicker, he knew better. Still, as it stood, Fox would probably kill him once he got what he wanted. Warren expected no better than he'd give, and the thought would have definitely crossed his mind if the situation was reversed. He tested the strength of the straps holding his arms down and found that, despite the dry cracks that riddled the straps, both they, and the armrests they were wrapped around, had no give whatsoever. The chair seemed pretty solid, so he doubted he could break it by tossing himself backward or trying to muscle his way out, and he didn't want to make a lot of noise trying.

The sound of footsteps clunking across squeaky wood boards outside told him someone was coming, so he closed his eyes and made like he hadn't woken up yet. He couldn't see, but he heard the footsteps get closer. They stopped for a moment, probably at the door, and then continued, drawing closer by the second. Whoever it was blew out a heavy breath, and audibly dropped their weight into the adjacent chair. It had to be Fox. Warren wanted to take a look, but he didn't want to risk being seen with his eyes open. If it was Fox, and he knew Warren was awake, well, his situation probably wouldn't improve much.

"I need to contact the Great Fox, make sure Rob made it out of Sargasso," Fox's voice confirmed his presence, "We'll worry about the rest later."

Who was he talking to? Was there someone else here?

"I'm sure he knows enough. I just need one good lead to get us back on track," Fox said.

There wasn't another voice, but Fox seemed like he was carrying on a conversation with someone. Warren guessed that he was talking to someone across a wave phone. Maybe a partner? Made sense. There was no damn way Fox had made it out of Titania on his own, not after being shot down and crashing on the surface. Somebody had to be helping him. Way Warren figured it, might be someone else who wanted what Viccini was after. It wasn't a stretch to think that ol' Fox had had a backup plan, sleazy as Viccini tended to be, and whatever was in that container they'd found inside the transport they'd hijacked had to be pretty damn important. Why else would the whole friggin CDF come barging into Sargasso? If Fox had a new buyer lined up, then Warren wanted in! He'd already been screwed out of one paycheck, and if he could make up for it, maybe even make off with a little more than what Viccini had offered, then why not go for it? He just had to convince Fox to cut him in on the deal.

Having made up his mind, Warren opened his eyes, a bit slower than necessary to make it look like he was just waking up, in case Fox was looking at him. Turned out he wasn't. Fox's back was to Warren as he slouched down into the adjacent chair with his feet propped up on the table. One of his arms rested at his side, the other leaned in about to where his head should be. He knew it, wave phone. He sat patiently and waited for Fox to finish his conversation. The more he could gather from eavesdropping, the more info he'd have as to how he could prove himself useful.

"Just be sure you're ready if we come across that marker signal again. The last time it caused disorientation. Didn't last long, but it still…what do you mean, was there something else?"

Fox seemed to tense for a moment, then relaxed, sighing impatiently. His hand dropped back to his side, and he sat up straight, swiveling his chair around and coming face to face with Warren, eyes open. He didn't see a wave phone in his hand, but he had probably just put it away. It sure was an odd way to end a conversation, though.

"How long you been awake?" Fox asked after a moment. He seemed agitated, but not surprised. At least, he was doing a good job of not showing it if he was suprised.

"Long enough to hear you talking to your partner there," Warren answered with his best chummy smile, "or is it a new employer? Look, either way, I want in."

Fox raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and without skipping a beat he said, "You actually expect me to bring you in on this? After what you did?" He had a wry look in his eye if ever he'd seen one.

Warren smiled inwardly. That wasn't flat out refusal, which meant Fox was playing with the idea, least-wise. Ol' Fox was clever enough, but Warren had a few tricks of his own. He just needed to make himself seem useful…

"Look, I blew up your ship, and by rights you could kill me for it, though I'd appreciate it if you didn't," he said, being as charismatic as a man is able whilst strapped to a chair, "but let's face it, things didn't exactly pan out well for either of us here! We both got screwed something royal, and we both got the same son of a bitch to blame for it, right? Now, I gotta figure you're planning to go after what was in that convoy before it finds its way to Viccini, and if you've got another buyer lined up, I want piece of the action! We've both got losses to make up for, and I figure you could use another hand. Viccini's got a few too many people in his pocket for this to be a one man operation, McCloud, so c'mon, loosen up these straps and let's figure a way to steal the goods back! Hell, at this point we both know whatever's in that container has to be worth more than any ten ships in Lylat put together!"

Fox sat another moment, hopefully thinking it over. He stood, one hand contemplatively stroking his chin, then said, "I don't know Warren, your leg's still banged up, I don't see you being any good to me or my _associates_, and I sure as hell don't want to split my cut of the profits if I don't' have to."

Associates! He knew it! Clever bastard wasn't saying any names, probably to make sure Warren couldn't undercut him if he got the chance, but Fox had a new buyer, and better yet, he didn't look like he was going to shoot Warren outright! He just had to play this right.

Warren suppressed a sly smile as he continued, "Yeah, my leg's on the mend, but I've got more to offer than just runnin' and gunnin', pal. I'VE got information. You know that, it's why I'm still breathing, why you went through all the trouble of draggin' my ass out of the Rock, and bringing me out here…"

He paused a moment to take a good hard look around again, saying, "where exactly are we again?"

"Just a little place I knew of. Good for getting lost when you don't have a mind to be found by anyone anytime soon," Fox answered.

"That don't tell me a whole hell of a lot," Warren grumbled, "Anyway, like I said, I know a few things you might be interested in hearing."

"Do you now?" Fox asked, reaching down and pulling a long knife from a sheath on his thigh.

"Hey, w-what are you?!" Warren balked as Fox came closer with the mean looking blade, his expression flat and unreadable. Quicker than he could blink, Fox's hand lashed out, Warren winced…then Fox walked back toward the adjacent wall, and Warren noticed his right hand was now free, the strap that had been holding it having been sliced off.

"Start talking," Fox said, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. He probably didn't figure Warren to be much of a threat, bad leg and all. He was right. Warren had no desire to tangle with him, shape he was in.

"Yeah, well," he started, reaching over with his free hand to unbuckle the left one, "guess I'll start with what happened after you got yourself shot down." Both hands free, he stood up to stretch his legs out while rubbing at his wrists. His feet felt like about a thousand needles were poking at them as blood rushed back in after God knows how long of sitting.

"My men and me, we had the transport, and we bolted. I hit warp last, right about the same time you were getting yourself shot down."

Fox tapped the tip of his knife against the exposed metal of his pistol with a slightly agitated look on his face.

"Just saying," Warren continued, sheepishly, "We met up at the rendezvous, a little station near Venom space, run by an old acquaintance me and mine go to whenever we need to fence something, or just make it disappear. We ditched the govy transport on him so he could 'renovate' it and sell it off for profit, traded it for an older model, something with a lower profile, and swapped the cargo over. That's when I first saw it. I'd never seen anything like it in my life. Big, black container, no markings, no seams, just solid black all over, and not a damn way to get it open. Believe me, I tried. Far as I could tell, the thing looked like a big black block. Now, my buddy, the fence, he takes a good look at it, takes out a scan-tool, and scans over the thing from top to bottom trying to find some way of I. it. He's at it for a few minutes when the bastard goes all white! You'd think he'd just seen a damn ghost! He tells us to hurry up and load the thing up and get the hell off his station. He had this look on his face, kinda like-"

Warren looked up and saw Fox staring right through him with distant, narrowed eyes. Something he'd just said had struck a chord.

"Well, kinda like that," Warren said, waving at Fox's expression, "except a little less angry-looking, and a little more scared, said that the container was too much heat for us to be bringing 'round his corner of space, and started making all kinda slanderous remarks about me and my parentage, if ya follow me. Now, to me, that says he knows something about it, but when I ask him what's got him so spooked, he just shakes his head, tells me hurry up and get off his station again, then leaves. Now, I didn't want to spoil our working relationship, so I didn't make a fuss about it. We left, and I got in contact with that rat-fuck-bastard, Viccini. We have a little chat, and he tells me to meet his guys at the drop-off point, an orbital warehouse belonging to one of his cover operations, a shipping contractor out of Zoness."

"Zoness?" Fox interrupted.

"Yeah," Warren said, "lot of freight comes out of Zoness. Tropical goods, foodstuff, medicinal plants, fish, nothing Cornaria would have a huge interest in, and the planetary government there is kinda lax, as lax as it can be under Cornaria, so it's a good place to hide a smuggling operation. As I understand it, Viccini's warehouse specializes in 'repackaging' goods, holdin' them till the heat dies down, and shipping them off to wherever he wants them shipped. Mostly used for stolen goods and-"

"Drugs," Fox finished for him, knowingly.

"Sometimes," Warren shrugged, "point is, Viccini doesn't want the have our stolen cargo flying willy-nilly all over Lylat. Not while it's blaring that weird signal all over the place, you remember, the one we used to identify the transport. I figure he wants to have it wrapped all nice and pretty so no one can pick up that signal, and then have it sent to him once Cornaria stops sniffin' around so much."

"Tell me something," Fox said, "why were you trying to get yourself killed in Sargasso if you were supposed to drop off the container at Zoness? Wouldn't Viccini have had an easier time killing you off before you ran and hid on the Rock?"

"That's the truth of it," Warren grumbled, "I smelled something fishy when I was talking to him, and my buddy's reaction back at Venom hadn't exactly done wonders for my nerves."

"So you got spooked and ran with the goods," Fox said, "thought you could hide out in Sargasso until you found another buyer."

"Yeah, for all the good it did. Bastard took all of a day to find us. His guys busted in and killed all my men while I was on the shitter. I heard it happen, had a bolt tear through the door and burn a damn hole in my leg. Lucky I had my grenade belt hanging from the towel rack. Anyway, I tossed one, hit the deck, waited for the boom, and ran like hell. That's when you showed up. No idea how they found us…"

"So, assuming his men got the container out of Sargasso before the CDF showed up, it should be on its way to Zoness?" Fox summarized.

"Right on the money, and I know where the warehouse is, so if you want-"

"You figure he'd still have it sent there?" Fox interrupted, "He's got to know you aren't dead by now, and he knows you know where the warehouse is. If it were me, I'd have it sent somewhere else."

Warren frowned. What Fox was saying wasn't wrong, but it wasn't necessarily right either. Besides, he needed Fox to believe the cargo was in fact headed for Zoness, otherwise, the information he had would be useless.

"Yeah, well," he said, "the way Lylat's looking right now, he doesn't have many options. Anywhere else he could send it has got a decent sized CDF taskforce locking it down. Defense Forces are spread all over the place, and if they get a whiff of that signal, it's all over. He'll send it to Zoness, trust me."

"Maybe," Fox said, sounding disinterested in Warren's opinion, "but even if he does, we would need a way in, then we would need to I.D. the target, extract it, and escape."

"That's-"

"Orbital storage facilities are usually automated. Most of the time the only personnel you find on board are a foreman and two or three others," Fox said, apparently thinking out loud, and not actually speaking to him, "but if Viccini uses the place for smuggling operations, then he probably has a few bodies on board who specialize in repackaging goods, not to mention security...How big is it? The warehouse?"

Warren shrugged, saying, "Dunno, I never went, remember?"

Fox gave a dissatisfied grunt, then continued, "Well, I don't think it would be too big if he wanted it to stay a discreet operation. Do you still have the I.D. signature for the place? Viccini should have given it to you so you could find it."

"Course," Warren answered smugly, reaching into his pocket, "I've got it programmed here in my-" the pocket was empty. His stomach sank as he patted himself down, quickly realizing that he didn't have what he was looking for.

"Your PDU?" Fox asked, walking over to his hanging jacket, reaching into one of its pockets, and producing the small device.

"Uh, Yeah," Warren said, nervously, "hand it over and I'll show you." He took a step toward Fox and reached for it, but faster than he could blink, Fox had him staring down the barrel of his blaster.

He shook his head and said, "You know you don't even have this thing password protected?"

"Hey, uh…c'mon Fox," Warren said, putting his hands up and backing away slowly, "no need to go pointing that thing at me."

"Here's the thing Warren," Fox said, sliding the PDU into his own pocket, "I've got pretty-much everything I need out of you. It's obvious that you were an expendable asset to Viccini, so I know you don't know anything else I'd find useful, so the only question left is: what am I going to do with you? Do I kill you here, or do i risk letting you turn and bite me later?"

"You could just let me go," Warren pleaded. At this point, he was giving up trying to turn a profit, and was much more concerned with getting out of here alive, "I've got nowhere to go, I sure as hell can't go to the authorities. I'll just disappear. You'll never see me again, I swear to God…"

If he hadn't been sweating buckets before, he was now. There was a dangerous look in Fox's eye. The way he was looking at Warren, it was like he wanted to pull the trigger no matter what he said.

Before anything could happen though, the sudden sound of loud footfalls striking solid wood planks outside gave little warning, and the door to the shack burst inwards, accompanied with a shout of "Yee-haw!" Whoever it was had kicked the door so hard it broke off its hinges and landed halfway across the room with a bang, and in rushed three Aquans, armed and looking for trouble by the look of them. The first one, presumably the one who'd kicked to door, was easily over six feet tall, fat but plenty strong gauging by his entrance. He wore a loose checkered shirt with the sleeves torn off, and was sporting a mean pair of brass knuckles on one of his enormous fists. The other two were smaller, but both held blasters trained on Fox. One of them was short, squat, and old, jaw covered with grey stubble while the rest of his face showed years of hard living. The rifle he was holding looked old too, but would be plenty effective from where he was standing. The last one stood at a little over five feet tall, gangly, with a tattered straw hat tilted forward, covering most of his face. This one held two pistols, one down by his waist, trained of Fox, the other behind his back, tapping at this shoulder.

"Well well, what'a we got here boys?" The old toad said with an ugly grin.

"Looks like a couple a spacers to me, Pa," the scrawny one answered, saying the word 'spacer' like some sort of insult, "Wha'chu reckon we aught'a do with 'em?"

"Hm…don' know much bout that one," The old one said, tilting his head at Warren, "but there somethin' bout this here Cornarian spacer what looks mighty familiar like, don't it?"

"I think you's right, Pa," the skinny one said, sharing his smug smile.

The old toad shouldered his rifle and said, "How's about you put yer gun down an' turn around nice an' slow like so's I can get a better look at'cha, see if I can't remember where I seen you before."

"Uh, Pa," the big one spoke up, "aint that that Fox Mac Cloud fella we saw in that there picture box back in town?"

The skinny one laughed it up while the old toad's smile turned sour.

"Course it is ya i-jit!" he barked, "Lord almighty if you aint the dumbest critter on this rock! Now ya gone screwed up ma whole dern speech!"

"Sorry Pa," the big one said, face drooping into a big frown.

The old one just shook his head, pointed his rifle back at Fox, who still had his pistol pointed at Warren with a look on his face that said he was shit-out-of-luck and none too pleased about it. Warren wondered if he would shoot him out of spite before complying with those threes' demands, assuming he was going to cooperate at all.

"Go on McCloud, drop the piece," the Aquan that the other two called 'Pa' said, "Warrant says we got to have you alive an' kickin' if'n we want us the whole re-ward, but I reckon they'd still pay somethin' fer a body, come to that."

Fox seemed to mull the situation over for a good long minute, eyeing over the three of them good and hard, then, finally, setting his blaster on the ground next to him. Warren didn't know if he was being saved or if his situation was about to get a whole lot worse, but he was definitely glad not to have a blaster aimed at him anymore.

"What we gonna do wit' that one?" the skinny Aquan asked, pointing his free pistol at Warren, and banishing his short lived relief.

"There any re-ward for him?" 'Pa' asked.

"Not that I heard."

The old toad shrugged nonchalantly and said, "shoot him, chuck his body in the swamp."

"Hold on a second!" Warren shouted, panic rising into his throat.

It was too late. The sound of the shot reached his ears at the same time the bolt struck his chest. There was fire and pain, and dumb shock all at once. He fell to his knees, then to the floor, and the world faded away into darkness…


	19. Chapter 19

Bayoon

Bayoon: only moon of Aquas. Total mass - equivalent to one-tenth that of its parent planet. Despite its smaller size, Bayoon houses nearly ninety percent of the local population, chiefly due to the fact that, unlike Aquas proper, Bayoon is almost entirely land-covered, save the presence of a few lakes and rivers and one extensive swamp. Early colonization was made possible by Bayoon's unusually close orbit around Aquas, hovering at a little over one hundred miles above its parent's surface. The two are so close together, that their atmosphere is shared, and so, shortly after mastering interatmospheric flight, the Aquan people had landed on and begun colonizing Bayoon. In the centuries following colonization, the Aquan population, which had, until that time, been restricted by life scattered across the sparse islands of Aquas, exploded. Flight became part of Aquan culture, and their reliance on dependable flying machines to traverse the space between either body nurtured a fascination with engineering that had endured even through the century since their annexation into the Cornerian Federation. Today, several shipyards and major ship manufacturers operated out of Aquas space, and Aquans were sought after mechanics and engineers in both the government and the private sector.

Now, what was it, exactly, that had drawn Fox to this place?

_The weather_, Fox answered his own question as he stared absently up at the grey sky, damp air flying at the back of his head. The planet facing side of Bayoon had a very unique weather cycle due to the water-covered surface of Aquas below. Solar radiation that would normally be reflected off of Aquas's surface got caught bouncing between it and Bayoon, causing a buildup in heat, and additional evaporation and humidity. The water would then rise much higher, much faster due to the weakness of the vying gravitational forces, and create a one hundred mile, sauna-like plume between the two, recondensing near the surface of the moon, and either falling as rain, or hanging as a thick fog. This fog, dense landscape, and the interference to ship's sensors caused by the magnetic relationship between Aquas and its moon made any sort of manhunt in Bayoon's swamplands very difficult…to most.

What Fox hadn't counted on, and what seemed obvious at this point, was that local criminals would undoubtedly try to hide here often enough to promote local bounty hunting. This meant individuals who were used to the area, and had become skilled at tracking people through the wetland. Thus, his three captors.

_You're making too many mistakes_, he told himself himself. He should have been more alert, set up some traps, or at least an alarm around the perimeter…he shouldn't have been reckless enough to meet with Aleksie in person…and for that matter, he never should have agreed to work for Viccini. He seemed to be making mistakes at every turn. Maybe he was getting old? In any event, it wasn't just him that was paying for his mistakes lately. That's how it always seemed to go. On his own, Fox had always had a knack for getting out of trouble. He was usually clever enough to find an escape or avoid the problem before he ever came to it.

His problem had always been those around him. He would get himself into something he knew he could handle, think his way through, move quickly enough to compensate for any error, and complete his objective, but that was only effective on an individual level, where the repercussions of his actions wouldn't have serious fallout for anyone else.

During his years in the academy, seemed like a long time ago now, they were assigned into 'combat teams,' groups of four cadets that would work together throughout their training. The teams would run combat courses together, firing drills, eat at the same table, everything - together. Of course, Bill and Fox had been on different teams, and both had risen to team leader. They were both top of the class in most respects, so it was pretty obvious that they would be separated and given the billets.

The difference between them was that Bill was a better leader, all said and done. Neither of them ever said it, and Fox was pretty sure Bill didn't realize it, but it was apparent enough. On an individual level, Fox would typically outperform Bill in just about everything, but when it came to teamwork, that's when Bill came into his own. When Fox's team went through a combat course, they would complete their objectives easily. Fox made sure of that. He would move through, rely on his own abilities to overcome most of the harder obstacles, and clear the way for his men. He rarely depended on them for anything, and it made things easy for them. He remembered how much they'd loved him for it, and how much he enjoyed the feeling of superiority. That was only natural. The problem was, while all this served to sharpen Fox's skills, his men didn't learn as much, and their teamwork wasn't as good as it could have been. Fox excelled, while his men just did their best to keep up. The end result? One of his teammates failed his individual exams. Then another fell apart during a high intensity leadership exercise and was dropped back a full cycle. At the time, Fox didn't understand, but he would learn later. Life has a funny way of sending its hardest lessons to hit you where you're weak.

Bill, on the other hand, _relied_ on his men. He worked with them to overcome obstacles and made sure they were able to keep up and lead on their own in case he failed. Fox had been cocky back then, failure just didn't compute. Bill though, good old Bill was a paragon of learning from one's mistakes. As kids, he would screw just about everything up on the first go, but he always learned from it, he always tried again, and he rarely failed a second time. By the time they were at the academy, he didn't make so many mistakes, but by then, he had already learned a valuable lesson: no one is infallible. Fox believed this was why he was able to depend so strongly on his men, and why they were able to depend on him. He needed them, and it made them stronger. They had worked together like clockwork near the end, and none of Bill's team failed their individual examinations. They all passed with honors.

The next year was when Fox had received the news about his father, and he'd dropped out of the academy…he heard a while later that Bill had graduated top of his class.

Good old Bill.

Fox roused himself from his reveries. He'd spent about enough time evaluating his flaws. He had other problems to deal with at the moment as he sat, bound and gagged in the front of the three bounty hunters' levicraft. It was a rough ride as the big, flat vessel charged ahead at what could be considered suicidal speeds through the swamp, partially sunken trees whipping by all around. The craft was powered by what appeared to be a salvaged sub-warp engine from a small fighter, and steered by the big Aquan. Its levicoails evidently had trouble keeping it afloat, as every so often it would sink low enough to strike the surface of the murky water below. The craft would then jolt as its speed caused it to skip off the water and bounce back into the air, glide a short while, and begin to sink back down again.

The older one called 'Pa' leaned back with one arm over the rail of the levicraft, puffing smoke around a chintzy wooden pipe while his rifle lay across his lap. The skinny one lay flat across one of the flat bench seats with his hat pulled down over his eyes, apparently napping. It was a ruse, of course. His hand lay securely on the grip of his pistol, which remained aimed steadily at Fox, and, when the light hit right, the glint of his eyes could be seen through the thin weaving of his hat.

For the moment, Fox sat tight. Bound as he was, trying to pitch himself over the side would seem like a quick way to drown, though he might be able to slip the ropes quick enough if it came to that. What kept him in place wasn't just the bindings, though, it was the ominous little gas capsules extending from his captor's weapons. He'd picked up on them as soon as he'd seen them back in the shed. There were a number of modifications you could perform on a blaster, if you knew how. One of them, highly illegal, was the use of a very unique gas called nillium. The nillium was contained in the capsule which extended slightly from the upper receiver of the blaster. When you pulled the trigger, a regulated amount of the gas would be released into the chamber just as the blaster bolt charged through. The bolt ionized the nillium, which then clung to it in a small plasma cloud. When the resulting plasma-blaster hybrid shots, nicknamed nil-rounds, seared through its target, the plasma was pulled with them, spreading through the victim's body. The effect varied on the quality of the gas. High quality nillium burned more intensely, and could incinerate everything around the bolt, leaving gaping, blackened holes where men's torsos used to be, or even blowing a biological target clean in half. Based on what had happened to Warren, though, this was low grade stuff.

That was a problem all of its own. Low grade nil-round wounds were horrific. The plasma would burn the flesh beyond repair, but typically wouldn't cause enough damage to kill instantly like higher grade rounds would. If you were lucky, your body went into shock anyway, and you died quickly enough not to feel the worst of it…if you weren't so lucky, then you writhed on the ground while you're insides sizzled and popped like bacon at breakfast. Even with a near miss, the plasma could inflict serious burns, or light the victim on fire. The modification could be brutally effective, but was cruel and, in Fox's opinion, unnecessary. He could kill with one standard bolt just as easily as he could with a modified one. Not these one's though. They clearly had no qualms with it. Fox could still see the fire lick from Warren's stunned, gaping mouth as he'd been shot. Luckily for him, he died quick.

Thinking back to the shed made Fox remember something. Orian had muttered something about 'odd activity' resulting from their early exposure to the marker signal he'd mentioned, but their conversation had been cut short when Fox had realized Warren had woken up. He'd sounded concerned. He couldn't exactly talk right now, but it was nagging at the back of his mind all the same.

The older Aquan, apparently coming around from his own track of thought, smiled and spoke up, saying, "Bet'chu thought you was real slick, duckin down in the swam from them Cor-nerian lawmen what's lookin for ya. Maybe you weren't wrong bout that, but I bet'chu sure as shit didn't count on gettin wrangled up by the locals, did'ja spacer?"

'Pa' chuckled, apparently thinking himself clever as Fox sat in silence. There wasn't much he could do at the moment, and until he could think of something better, his hope rested in the little blinking word on the display of his wrist unit, which was tucked underneath the loose sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt. He was glad he'd thought to put it back on during the trip here, otherwise he'd be in even more of a bind.

"Name's Jedidiah Jackson, in case you wanna tell them other jailbirds who caught'cha," the older Aquan proudly continued. He then pointed over to the others and said, "them there's mah boys, Ulysses-" the one in the hat grunted, "-and Jud," the big on waved and shot on friendly smile.

"Pleasure ta meet'cha!" Jud said after being introduce.

Jedidiah rolled his eyes and said, "look here, this spacer's a bounty-head, so don't'chu go tryin to make friends wit him, ya lumux!"

"Wull I know that Pa!" Jud protested, "It's jus' you was introducin us an all…"

"I was PAT-onizin im, ya ijit! Now quit yer back-talk, an just steer the durn boat!"

"Yes Pa," Jud responded, dejectedly.

Ulysses laughed, and they sped on a good way in silence after that, what could be seen of the scenery remaining much the same as they went. The craft began to slow at what Orian displayed to be sixty-seven minutes, forty-one seconds, and a little less than fifty miles of travel. There was a soft sloshing sound as the bow slid up onto land and the craft ground to a stop.

"Ulysses," Jedidiah said, kicking his skinnier son on the boot, "git yer lazy ass up an' tie us down."

"Right," Ulysses said, rolling off the bench seat and coming to his feet. He walked passed Fox, and the levicraft rocked as he hopped down onto what Fox assumed was dry land by the soft thump his boots made when he landed behind him. He could hear the ropes being tied, and after a moment Jedidiah also got up and jumped out of the levicraft, saying, "Pick up that spacer an' bring em inside," to his son Jud.

Jud did as he was told, slinging Fox, bound as he was, over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and stepping off the levicraft a bit more carefully than the others had. Fox bounced on the big Aquan's shoulder as he trundled toward somewhere he couldn't see. He did spot something as they passed it, however. Hovering in place, on a flat, concrete pad, was something very out of place out here in the backwater swamp. A Justice Mk. 8, one of the most sought after levibikes across Lylat. The Justice series had been terminated after the Mk. 9 series, over ten years ago, with only about ten thousand of each series having ever been produced. The only time, other than here of all places, that Fox had ever even seen one had been in the showcase of a wealthy client who'd hired Star Fox to run protection on a shipment of gold bullion destined for his bankers on Corneria. That had been, what, six or seven years ago? He wasn't sure, but it had been a Mk. 6, that he was sure of.

Fox chuckled through his gag, and leaned his head as close to Jud's ear as he could so he'd understand his muffled words as he said, "_Oo, know, oo shoo really pu a cover over tha."_

Jud looked confused until he looked over and saw the bike in all of its glory, sitting completely unprotected from the harsh environs of the swamp. He stamped his foot indingnantly, and thundered, "TAR-Nation! Ulysses! I toll ya once I toll ya a million times! When yous finished ridin' The Duke, put the gall-durn tarp back on it!"

"Aw, do it yerself, why don'cha?" came Ulysses agitated reply, "I just ride the durn thang fer the races! Keepin her runnin' and lookin fine's yer job!"

"An' why should I havta clean up after yer ass, ya lazy sumbitch?" Jud shot back angrily.

"Wha'chu call me, boy?"

"That's enough you two!" a wizened, somewhat more articulate female voice broke in from what sounded to be a bit farther off, "you boys quit your quarrelling and come on inside. Ulysses, you know you're supposed to cover up The Duke, so get on it, and Jud, you watch your language, you hear? Set that man down inside, and then the both of ya wash up. I've got supper in the kettle and I won't have you sitting at my table with the swamp still stuck to ya."

"Yes'm," both son's answered at once. It only took a few seconds before Jud was clumping up a set of wooden stairs and Fox's vista was consumed by log walls and a hardwood floor. Jud set him on his feet in the corner of the first room they had entered. His feet were bound at the ankles, but he could stand. Still, rather than stay upright, he leaned his weight against the wall and slid down until he was seated. There was cozy furniture, an empty, blackened fireplace, and an older vid set. Three doors lead out of the room. One was the door to the outside, one he could see lead into a hallway, and the other to a well lit room he couldn't quite see.

It was from the lit room, he was almost positive, that the smell of cooking stew was wafting in. The smell caused saliva to fill Fox's mouth, and his stomach growled ferociously. He hadn't eaten since he was on the Great Fox, before Sargasso, and even then, the small sandwich he'd managed to scrape together handn't lasted him long. The smell of stewing meat and vegetables mixing with other scents he recognized but couldn't place made him wish he had been born something other than Vulpan as they all tantalized his hunger. Like most of the other canine races of Lylat, he had a very sensitive nose.

He tried to shift his focus, but his stomach growled again in defiance, this time significantly louder than before. After a second or two, it got an answer. A womanly chuckle came from the lit room, and a healthy looking Aquan woman, looking to be in her late fourties with crows feet just playing at the base of her eyes, walked into the room. She leaned a shoulder against the doorframe and wiped her hands off on a cooking apron she wore around her waist.

"Was that your stomach making all that racket just now?" she asked amusedly, chuckling again, "That was about the loudest belly-thunder I've heard since my papa used to come home from the assembly lines way back when I was a girl."

Fox mumbled through his gag, making her tilt her head inquisitively. She walked over and pulled the gag out and down over his neck so she could understand him better. "What was that, now?" She asked.

Fox smiled politely up at her and said, "Well ma'am, I was just saying that you looked a bit too young to be talking that way. If I had to guess, I wouldn't put you a day over thirty."

"Oh-ho! Wouldn't you now?" she said, obviously aware that it wasn't true, but seeming to welcome the compliment all the same, "I wonder if that'd be the case if my cooking didn't smell quite so good. Hm?"

Fox put on a bashful smile and said, "I've got to say, I can't remember the last time I've smelled a home-cooked meal," he let his ears droop just a bit as he said, "would have had to be before my mother died. Pop wasn't the best cook. I mean, we did alright, a lot of restaurants mostly..." It was true, so it wasn't hard to play the part.

The motherly old Aquan sighed as sympathy crept into her features. "I'm sorry to hear that, spacer," she said, using the term 'spacer' with less scorn than the others had, "Plenty of young ones lost their folks 'round here during the war, and its always a shame to see. When was did she pass, if you don't mind my askin?"

"No need to apologize ma'am," Fox said with false dismissive-ness, "I was nine or ten when she died. It was a long time ago." He'd only just turned ten, and it felt like yesterday. It always did.

His actual sentiment must have shown. Tears welled in the woman's eyes as she undoubtedly imagined her own children being left motherless as such an age. She turned away quickly to hide it, but Fox heard her whisper, "_Ten__ years old…? The poor darlin'_."

After a moment she whipped at her eyes, straitened up, and turned back to look at Fox again, giving him a good look over, then nodding resolutely. "You may be a bounty, but you're polite enough for a spacer. You just sit right there, and I'll fix you a bowl and bring you a crust of bread. Won't be much, mind you, but it'll at least keep that stomach of your quite."

As she walked off toward what Fox now assumed was the kitchen, he heard her mumbling under her breath, "_As I live and breath, ten years old…ain't __hardly any kind of wonder__ why the boy's __been up to no good."_

She returned a short time later with a steaming bowl, the promised crust of bread protruding from the left side, resting on an island of meat that rose from the fragrant broth of the stew. Fox's mouth hung slightly open as she approached him with the food, saliva flowing into his mouth in a torrent of anticipation. She chuckled at his apparent eagerness, and set the bowl in front of him.

It was at that exact moment that Jedidiah walked into the room, hair slicked back and freshly groomed. The old Aquan's face soured at the seen in front of him.

"Caroline!" he bellowed, "jus' what in tarnation do ya think yer doin?"

"Oh, simmer down dear, I was just going to feed him. He looks like he hasn't eaten a good meal in years!"

"Feed 'im?" Jedidiah bellowed even louder, "whatsit matter if'n he's eaten or not, so long as he don't starve ta death afore Stacy-Bell comes back with that spacer woman? You don't need ta go wastin our food on that varmint!"

_Spacer woman?_ Fox thought, _What does he mean, spacer woman?_

He stormed forward a few angry paces looking like he was going to take Fox's bowl away before the women, whose name was Caroline, evidently, squared off in front of her husband, stamped her foot on the ground, and said, "Now you look here Jedidiah Brimmer Jackson," waving her finger staunchly in his face, "I won't have my good name run through the swamp on account of you not showing a guest proper country hospitality!"

"Guest-?" Jedidiah started to protest, but his wife was having none of it.

"I don't care one lick if he's a bounty-head, a spacer, or a damn TAX-MAN, you hear me? He's in MY house, and he GETTIN' a proper meal!" she concluded with the tone of finality, "that spacer woman can come and haul him off to wherever she's taking him, but we can at least send him off with full stomach."

_The spacer woman again. Haul me away…?_

Jedidiah's face turned several shades of red before he let out an exasperated breath.

"Fine!" he yelled, waving his hands above his head, "bu'chu ain't untyin im, ya hear me? He wants ta eat my food, he can do it like he is!"

The two stared at each other in an uneasy stalemate for a few seconds, then Jud came plodding into the room whiffing the air and smiling, seemingly unaware of the conflict. "Whooee, that smells right nice mama! Is supper about ready?" he asked, innocently.

The couple seemed to simmer down a bit, and Caroline smiled back at her son and nodded.

"Go an fetch yer brother, boy, an we'll sit down and have us a bite," Jedidiah said, still sounding frustrated, but going along with the change in temperament.

"What about Stacy-Bell?" Jud asked, "ain't we gonna wait for her?"

"Nah," the older Aquan said, waving the question off, "no tellin when that girl'll be back. Always out spending my hard earned money on the damndest thangs…git yer brother and lets eat."

He had just about reached the kitchen when the sound of approaching jet turbines wafted in from outside. It grew louder quickly, and Jud smiled, saying, "That sounds like 'er now. Guess she were real quick about fetchin' that spacer-woman afterall, huh pa?"

Jedidiah just sight, apparently accepting the fact that he wasn't allowed to be right today, and said, "Yeah, well, don look so durn pleased about it. You got'chu an eye for that gal, sure as shit."

The big guy just blushed and looked at the floor in embarrassment. "Whul, she is _awful_ perty…" he said, trailing off.

"Now that's enough of that, young man!" his mother reprimanded him from the kitchen, "you don't need to go having anything to do with that little Cornarian girl. What you need to do is get you a good Aquan girl, like your father did."

"Amen!" Jedidiah said, strolling into the kitchen with a wolfish grin. What followed was Caroline's giggles and, "Oh, you." The couple apparently made up as quickly as they got angry with each other.

The sound of turbines increased to a smooth, but very loud whine as whatever craft Stacy-Bell piloted arrived, and it continued for a few seconds longer before winding down and eventually stopping entirely. The tell-tale hiss of an opening canopy followed, and soon after that a young, female Aquan in tight fitting blue jeans and a tucked-in, button up shirt strolled into the room. Ulysses walked in after her, but she paused a moment to look over at Fox, and her brother walked right by and into the kitchen.

She took a moment to run her eyes over Fox and shot him a suggestive smile, saying, "Ooh, just like his wanted picture! Pity you're worth so much, spacer, or I just might keep you for my own self."

Aquan women were quite possibly the farthest thing from Fox's type as there could be, next to having his way with a Saurian or heavy machinery, but he didn't let that show. On the other hand, she did have a decent body on her, and it _had_ been a long time…

Fox pushed the thought away. This wasn't something he needed to be thinking about. "You're not bad yourself," he answered with a wink and a smile. No point burning bridges just yet.

"Oh?" she said, slinking her way over. Her eye caught the bowl of stew on the floor in front of him, and her smile widened a little, "Maybe I'll be back later to help you with that."

"Stacy-Bell!" her father called from the other room, "Git you away from that spacer, ya harlot! He's already scammed yer mother out of some of my food. I'll be damned if he's gonna have a taste o' my daughter too!"

"He wouldn't be the first," Stacy-Bell answered, nonchalantly, turning away and headed back to the kitchen again.

"Ain't you supposed to have that woman wit'chu?" Fox heard Jud ask, sounding dissapointed.

"Yeah, well, she said ta hold onto him for her a while so she can get a few thangs in order," Stacy-Bell answered, "but don't you worry, she'll be here in the morning, and you can embarrass yourself droolin all over her then. I promise."

"Figgures a damn spacer wouldn't know not to keep a man waitin. She'd better have our money when she gits here, that's fer _damn_ sure," Jedidiah added.

At this point the female 'spacer' they were talking about was likely either a CDF officer, or something similar, but whatever the case he was sure he didn't want to be here when she came for him in the morning. Still, for the moment he would sit tight. There was no point trying anything just then, but he had a plan going.

Near the door was a plaque with three labeled hooks, the one that said 'The Duke' had a set a keys hanging from it, and the little word 'BEACON' blinked on and off on the display of his wrist unit, tucked away where no one could see…


	20. Chapter 20

Flight

Fox licked his fingers clean as he set his empty bowl down on top of the neatly coiled pile of ropes that now sat in the corner of the Jackson home's living room and walked over to the key hanger by the door. The stew had been cold, but that hadn't kept it from being the best thing he'd eaten in a good long while anyway. He idly wished he'd been able to eat it while it was still warm, but, circumstance dictated that he wait for everyone to fall asleep before slipping his restraints. He was very careful in lifting the keys from their hook so as not to make any noise. On the other side of the room sat the big one, Jud, sleeping peacefully with his father's rifle leaning against the wall beside him. The big fella had volunteered to watch Fox until the oft mentioned 'spacer woman' could come and get him, and after the others had fallen asleep, he had managed to get Jud talking. He was apparently the family mechanic, and was much more intelligent than his family seemed to give him credit for, in Fox's opinion. They went on for a few hours about various craft, not the least of their topics being levibikes, before Jud's eyes began to droop, and he drifted off to sleep.

With a last look around the cozy cabin home, Fox, keys in hand, bid the place a fond mental farewell, quietly slipped the door open, and set out. The dew soaked grass swished peacefully under his boots as he made his way over to the waiting levibike. After talking to Jud, he felt a little bad about what he was about to do. This bike was his baby. Still, he didn't have much choice. It was either steal the bike, or wait to be hauled away by the CDF, and, according to his wrist unit, he was just about out of time. He sighed as his feet found the edges of the concrete pad above which the bike hovered. He hesitated a moment. Looking around, he saw Stacy-Bell's parked jetcraft, the docked skimmer he'd road in on, and, beyond that, the quasi-light before the sunrise just barely illuminating the mist filled spaces between the trees and odd plots of dry land. Pushing his moral objections aside with a scratch at the back of his neck and a heavy sigh, he walked up, took a hold of the handlebars, and threw his legs over the Justice Mk.8.

"Sorry Jud," he said as he slid the key into the ignition slot, "I'll pay you back if I get the chance."

The tranquility of the wee hours of the morning, insects chirping as the cool breeze whispered through the reeds and grasses, was instantly and utterly obliterated by the unexpectedly loud shriek of the bike's levicoils energizing. Fox squeezed his eyes shut and ground his teeth as they died back down to a much louder than normal hum. The damn hillbillies had removed the suppressor pads from the coils…racing trick…made them more responsive.

Lights in the house flicked on, and Jud's groggy voice shouted, "Ah…HELL! Spacer's got the Duke!"

_Hell, why not? _Fox thought as he opened his eyes with the serene expression of a man on the verge of insanity, twisted the throttle forward and leaned hard. The Justice responded by wheeling into a sharp turn as it accelerated. He leveled out and shrieked away from the bounty hunters' home, making for the swamp at rapidly increasing speeds. He welcomed the cold morning air. It did a good job of keeping his mind sharp and focused as the various obstacles in the swamp whipped by him with mounting lethality. He weaved between a few trees and a rotten, shattered stump, the air disruption around the bike whipping a fine mist up in his wake. He had to move quickly, but he also had to be careful. Low hanging vines draped from many trees which could easily snag him, and at the speeds he was going, there would be damage if they did. There were also obstacles hidden in the murky waters below, and wildlife that could surprise him. He had to keep his wits about him.

Indiscernible shouts accompanied by the unmistakable reports of blaster shots told Fox his captors were now awake and angry, and, behind him, he heard the roar of the salvaged ion engine attached to the Jacksons' skimmer as it came to life. The justice, even with Jud's improvisions would be pegged at around a maximum speed of two hundred and forty miles per hour. He had chosen the bike because it was easier to maneuver through the dense landscape, but the engine propelling the other craft was meant to accelerate a small spacecraft traveling through a vacuum at max speeds well over three _thousand_ miles per hour. Obviously, those speeds were impossible for that particular levicraft. The question was how far his pursuers would be willing to push it in order to catch him.

Fox continued dodging and weaving through the swamp, the power of the Justice reverberating his entire frame as he whipped between a few mossy dunes rising from the water. Because the Justice was smaller and more compact, he would be able to go places the bigger craft couldn't. This meant that even though the other craft promised to be faster, it wouldn't be able to keep up in this terrain. He had to use this to his advantage while he could. Judging by where they were now and where he was going, the terrain would soon begin to favor his pursuers, and he had to put as much distance between himself and them as he could. It wouldn't be too difficult to lose them in these conditions, and as long as he could keep them from getting a visual on him, it would be hard for them to follow him effectively.

He flattened himself low against the bike and pressed down on the depressor pedal, making the bike drop closer to the water as he flew beneath a fallen tree that leaned out over the water ahead. There were two pedals on any performance levicraft that took the place of the standard elevation lever of most conventional craft. One pedal, the depressor, made the craft go down, the maximum 'low' being a scant, dangerous few inches above the surface, at which point, the levicoils would be producing their absolute minimum lift without scraping the ground. The other was the riser pedal, which would make the craft…well, _rise_ to its maximum high, where the coil was at its highest _maintainable_ charge, and its elevation was peaked. The pedals made for more sophisticated elevation control, handy for racing levicraft through tricky obstacle courses, where you couldn't spare a hand to manipulate other controls.

He could still hear the roaring of the ion engine not far away. They were likely following the screaming of the Justice's unsuppressed coils. He cursed under his breath. Still, if he could get far enough away, they might not be able to hear him over the noise of their own craft. They still couldn't see-

His thought was cut short but the approaching sound of turbines. He slowed just enough to safely look up, and was barely able to make out Stacy-Bell's jetcraft as it flew by overhead. The sound of its engines faded briefly, then began to grow louder again as he assumed she circled around. It wasn't likely that she'd been able to see him through the growth, but if Fox were running their little bounty hunting operation, and had access to an aircraft like that, he would put it to good use. Spotting a fleeing bounty head in a swamp wasn't easy, but if you had an eye in the sky, scanning the territory below with thermals…

The craft slowed to match his speed above him and shot a flare straight into ever brightening sky above them, bathing everything in a bright, yellow light. Fox laid on the throttle again, the aircraft easily staying on him the whole way as the sound of the roaring skimmer closed.

"Orian," Fox said, deadpan, "This bike should weigh around half a ton. I want you to calculate our velocity and relative momentum, and outline the trajectories of travel to our immediate left and right up to one hundred yards ahead."

"Easy," Orian said as he immediately carried out the command. A simulated projection of Fox atop the justice appeared on both sides of him, visible in his peripherals with their courses outlined by highlighted lines which stretched the requested distance. As the lines came in contact with the larger land dunes that he was carefully avoiding, they arched high into the air. His projected selves would follow, their speed and lift causing them to ramp upward. He began to accelerate, and as he did, the holograms jumped higher. Satisfied, he pulled Warren's PDU out of his pocket. He'd already transferred all of the information that was on it to his wrist unit long before Warren had ever woken up, so he didn't really need it anymore.

Stacy-Bell was flying low, just high enough to keep her craft's bottom mounted turbines from pulling anything into their intakes, but low enough for her short range thermal sensors not to lose Fox's heat signature.

_The thing about a turbine,_ Fox thought to himself as he steered his craft toward a promising dune which sat just below an opening in the trees, _something small and hard gets pulled into the intake, and it'll tear the hundreds of tiny propeller like blades inside to ribbons._

She was staying directly above him. That was good. He twisted the throttle as far forward as it would go, the bike charged forward, and in the short straightaway before the dune it reached a good hundred and ninety. He hit the dune, laid on the riser…and flew. The bike arched high, carried by momentum and the increased output of the coils, and in the sparse few seconds before gravity could collect its due, he looked back, saw that the aircraft was directly behind him…and tossed the PDU over his shoulder. It happened too quickly for Stacy-Bell to react. The little device spun once before being pulled into the intake of the craft's left turbine. He could see her in the cockpit and, for an instant, their eyes met. She looked surprised.

Metal squealed in violent protest as gouts of flame enveloped the wrecked turbine, and the craft careened into a wild spin. Both Fox's bike and Stacy-Bells aircraft crashed through the branches of the trees as gravity reclaimed them both. Stacy-Bell went into the drink, while Fox, bike splashing down hard but quickly popping above the disturbed waters again, blazed onward, cutting back down to a third of max throttle, but maintaining a good eighty miles per hour.

"That was a bit reckless," Orian intoned.

"I had to improvise," Fox answered, zigzagging between land dunes and a patch of hanging vines, "She was going to lead the others straight to us, and you saw what those nil-rounds did to Warren. I'd really rather keep them as far away as possible."

"I suppose, I just thought I'd remind you that you're not the only one in here."

"Would you rather have stayed back on Titania?"

Orian hummed thoughtfully, "that wouldn't have benefitted either of us, especially considering your recent complications."

"Same _complications_ you mentioned earlier?" Fox asked, a low branch whipping by a little too close. The words '_possible mutation_' still floated around at the back of his thoughts, kept good company by the rest of his problems, of course.

"It's stabilized," Orian answered, "but now isn't the best time to talk about it."

"Agreed," Fox said, "lets pick it up when we're not running for my life."

"I doubt-" Orian tried to say.

His train of thought was dislodged by the crackling hiss of a plasma coated bolt tearing through the air nearby. It missed Fox by a few feet, but he could feel the heat of the plasma as it whizzed by, striking a moss covered tree nearby which instantly burst into flames around where the bolt hit.

It was then that Fox noticed how much closer the roaring had become, and that it was now audibly accompanied by rhythmic splashing as the skimmer continuously struck the water's surface. The craft's coils were having even more trouble keeping it in the air due to the much higher speeds it was traveling at to catch up to Fox. The water beneath just wasn't solid enough of a medium to handle the weight of the craft while it was moving this fast. He saw them in the left hand rearview mirror. The big one was steering again, looking highly upset, while Jedidiah, clad in nothing but a set of pajamas, leaned forward in a supported shooting position, trying to take careful aim despite the difficult firing conditions. There was little chance of a direct hit with their speed, Fox's constant weaving, the obstacles whipping by in-between their respective crafts, and the skimmer's constant bouncing, but Fox was well aware that a direct hit wasn't necessary. The fact that the old Aquan was making any attempt to aim at all meant he was probably trying not to do too much damage to 'The Duke.' It was Ulysses that made him uneasy. He held both of his pistols at the ready, but didn't fire a shot. He was waiting. He wanted to be good and close before he opened up, and, by the look in his eye, Fox doubted he gave a damn what happened to the bike.

He couldn't afford to let them get that close. As they sped onward, the big craft started to fall behind. The patches of raised earth were quickly becoming more densely packed, even as the trees gradually began to thin.

Fox increased to eighty percent on the throttle. He had to make damn good on this last stretch. According to Orian's information, their house had been near the edge of the swamp, and they had traveled a little over twenty miles in the last fifteen minutes, which meant they would soon be leaving the swamp entirely and entering the wide open marshlands beyond. He had, maybe, between five and ten more miles before the advantage of his bike's mobility disappeared. On a wide, flat marsh without any obstacles, the skimmer would easily outpace him, and his pursuers would have a much cleaner shot.

A ways back, the Jacksons' fell in line behind him. They were still falling behind, but it made Fox easier to shot at. He serpentined between the quickly dissipating trees, and banked behind a particularly high dune as one shot after another cracked through the air around him. The best way to lose them would be to double back into the swamp, and make the greatest possible use of his advantage, but he couldn't afford to waste that much time. The timing between pings on his wrist unit was already getting shorter by the minute, and his window was small enough as is.

God, did he wish he had more time.

He dodged and weaved like a madman though the uneven terrain, and made the best out of every straightaway. Minutes passed, and the ground gradually became more even, and more solid beneath him. The sunlight became brighter as he left the monolithic plume above which stretched all the way across to the surface of Aquas, and rather than murky water occasionally interrupted by land, it all blended together into miles and miles of moist earth covered by a waving ocean of tall amber grass. The grass whipped at his face as he intentionally powered through it at maximum throttle, staying low rather than increasing his elevation to go over it. A little more than half a minute afterward, he saw the skimmer break free of the trees, far behind him. Its ion engine flared brightly, and it thundered out into the marshes. Having more solid land beneath its coils, it no longer bounced, but flew straight and true, and now, out in the open, they were able to push that engine of theirs to much a much greater output.

They were on his five o'clock, moving in more or less the same direction but slightly away and to the right, apparently having trouble spotting him amidst the uniform masses of waving grass. They increased their elevation as much as they could without losing control of the craft due to their extremely high speed, and for several tense seconds, Fox wondered if they would spot him.

There was something odd, though. He squinted into his mirror to try and confirm what he was seeing, and it seemed that Jud was waving one of his arms like a lunatic. He looked forward again, but couldn't see very far ahead due to the dense grass.

That changed abruptly.

An unexpected rise in the land beneath the grass made his bike bounce a good ways into the air, making him pop above his cover like fish leaping out of water.

They spotted him.

He spotted a familiar gunship approaching from dead ahead.

As he hit the grass again he realized who the 'Spacer Woman' everyone had been talking about was. That was the same gunship that had tried to block his escape back in Sargasso, and, if memory served, its owner was a space faring female bounty hunter with a penchant for expensive toys. The Aquans were a local operation, so they probably didn't have too many off-world contacts, but she probably did. They have the advantage of the home terrain, and she had the means of taking Fox straight to the CDF. Good partnership…

_Spacer Woman,_ Fox though, grass whipping his face painfully. How the hell had she tracked him here? There had to have been at least a hundred other warp trails covering his. No one could have picked out his in of all that.

From her current vantage point, he had no doubt she could see his progress through the marsh perfectly, and he had no chance of outrunning a starship. He let on the raiser to get a good look around, letting off the throttle and allowing the Justice to coast to a stop.

"As good a place as any," Fox resigned, pulling back his sleeve to look at his wrist unit. Rather than the word 'beckon' it now flashed 'tracking' over and over. Every time the word appeared, it was accompanied by a ping, and the frequency and pitch of that ping denoted the general range between Fox's wrist unit, and the only possible recipient of the two-way pulse beacon it was emitting.

_Two pings per second._

Fox stood, being very deliberate with his footing as he did so. He put his hands in the air. Both the gunship and the skimmer were quickly approaching, and he needed to by just a little more time.

The Jacksons roared past him, swinging around and slowing to a stop to his left. The noise from the gunship's engines drowned out nearly everything else as it took up position on his right.

"We got'chu now spacer!" Jedidiah yelled above the din, "yer lucky yer ride's here r'I'd have half a mind to blow yer goodfernuthin head clean off! Ya hear?"

Fox paid him little mind, and instead looked over at Jud. He flashed a guilty smile and shrugged apologetically.

He just looked back through narrowed eyes and yelled, "there best not be not ONE scratch on The Duke, spacer. If'n I find even one gal durn scract, I'll-!"

"You'll easily have it repainted with the money you'll receive for Mr. McCloud's _safe_ deliver into my custody, gentlemen," a lofty, female, and distinctly Cornarian voice interjected, magnified by the gunship's external com.

Fox looked over and saw that he was correct. A boarding ramp was lowered just beneath and behind the ship's cockpit, and standing at its edge was the very same biotic-armored female form that had met him back in that hanger in Drifter's Rock.

"Are you surprised to see me, Fox?" She asked, cocking her helmeted head to one side quizzically, "Oh, you don't mind me calling you Fox, do you?"

_Three pings per second._

"Not at all," Fox called back, "but it makes me think we've met before."

"Perhaps," she said, coyly, "or are you referring to our little spat in Sargasso? In any event, it's time we bring this little game of cat and mouse to a close. I'm going to lower my ship, and you are going to join me on the ramp here. Your cooperation, Mister McCloud, is advised."

As she spoke, the forty millimeter laser cannons on either side of her ship angled down, so that Fox was staring directly up into their barrels.

"Not so fast spacer!" Jedidah bellowed, "I ain't bin paid yet, an' you ain't takin my bounty-head till I've got my money!" He stood with his rifle aimed directly at the female bounty hunter, clearly oblivious to what she was wearing and the thin, wavering personal shield her suit was currently projecting.

"Of course," she answered, courteously despite her obvious advantage, "I am true to my word, Mr. Jackson, and you have fulfilled your end of the bargain." She opened a pouch on her belt and produced a cred-stick.

"It's the full amount, I assure you," she said, holding it up for Jedidiah to see.

The old Aquan waved back to his son, and Jud brought the skimmer up alongside the gunship. As they closed, Fox saw Jud smile big, and his lips moved as he apparently said something to the female bounty hunter. She may or may not have responded. Fox couldn't tell over the noise, but Jud blushed and smiled some more. Jedidiah reached over and grabbed the cred-stick, producing a bulky, outdated PDU, and jamming the stick inside to check the amount.

Ulysses, unlike the others, never looked away from Fox, not even for a second. He stood with one foot propped up on the edge of the skimmer, and a suspicious look on his face as he squinted down at Fox. If Fox recalled correctly, Jud had said that Ulysses was the one who normally road The Duke when the Jackson family competed in various local races. He'd also mentioned that he'd won his fair share of them, so chances were he knew what he was doing. This was likely why he was starring so intently, not at Fox, but at the placement of his feet. He probably also would have noticed the peculiarly low hum of the Justice's levicols as it slowly began to bob, ever so slightly, up and down.

You see, for the last couple minutes, Fox had been standing on both the riser and depressor pedals simultaneously, and as any experienced racer knows, this causes a massive buildup of energy in the coils. If, at any moment, Fox were to take his left foot off of the depressor pedal, that energy would be violently released…

"Spacer!" Ulysses barked, bringing both of his pistols up, "you do _exactly_ what I tell ya, _exactly_ WHEN I tell ya, r'you'll be deader'n shit afore ya can even blink! Nya, you's go'n reach down, real slow like, and you's gonna pull the key out'a that ignition, and ya ain't gonna move either of them feet afore I says so."

The pinging became a solid ring on Fox's wrist unit and, just barely audible above the screaming of the Justice's unsuppressed coils, the roar of the Jackson's skimmer, and the wash of the hunter's gunship, was the sound of something very large plummeting through atmo a scarce three miles above. It sounded like a meteor.

Fox looked up with a confident smile just as the clouds of the great plume bulged, then burst away as the Great Fox emerged, fire roaring at its edges as it allowed gravity to pull it downward without resistance. It looked like scene out of the apocalypse. In a word, beautiful.

The hunter turned, likely alerted by her ship's proximity sensors. All other heads turned when, at the last possible moment, the massive levicoils and inertial thrusters beneath the huge vessel fired, shaking the very air around them as the Great Fox leveled out, coming to within a scant fifty feet above the surface and continuing to barrel toward them at terrifying speed.

"Shitfire!" Jud boomed, hitting the throttle on the skimmer so hard it leveled him against his seat.

The Great Fox's starboard hanger began to open.

_Have to time this right._

The hunter rapidly worked the controls on her wrist unit as she ran back into her ship. The gunship reeled out of the way.

_Almost._

Nil-rounds cut through the air as the two armed Aquans opened fire on Fox, but he couldn't move, not yet…one of them came too close. Fox suppressed a yelp as the plasma cloud burned the outer flesh of his right thigh, and fought to keep on his feet.

_Not yet…not yet…_

There was an instant, just as the rush of air around the Great Fox reached his face, just as it's shadow fell over him, just as the hanger doors finished their travel, that Fox knew he couldn't wait any longer. His left foot came off the depressor, and the built up energy in the Justice's coils released in one violent blast, flattening Fox against the bike as it rocketed both of them high into the air.

The Great Fox loomed before him, charging his way like flying metal juggernaut as both Fox and the Justice met the zenith of their flight. They separated in the air in that weightless instant before gravity could catch up to them, and just as they fell, the Great Fox's hanger engulfed them. Steel bulkheads flew by, and the far wall approached at alarming speed. Gravity took its due. Fox crashed to the rushing floor beneath him, striking the metal deck of the hanger hard, and rolling several feet before he came to a stop.

He lay there for a moment. Then he groaned, as dull pain throbbed through ever bone in his body. He reached down to feel the wound on his leg, and found that it was slick, and clumps of blackened skin simply slid off under his touch. The smell of burning hair and meat assaulted his nose, and pain surged through his leg. The burn was bad. He had to apply medigel as soon as possible, and get the wound under wraps, but right now he had to get to the bridge.

"Rob!" he yelled, pain adding coarseness to his voice as he forced himself into a kneeling position, and then to his feet, "Get us out of here, now! And set a course for Zoness!"

"Roger," Rob answered over the com.

Behind him, the hanger doors slammed shut, and Fox made for the Bridge. It was an excruciating walk, every step with his right leg shooting fresh pain through his body, but after a few minutes, he was on the bridge.

Rob looked over at him and froze. He couldn't show concern on that metal face of his, but if he could, he would have paled.

"You need medical assistance," Rob said, his tone urgent despite his monotone voice.

"No time," Fox said, "I'll see to it myself when we're clear."

Fox tossed himself down in a chair by the sensory equipment. "Any sign of that bounty hunter's ship?" he asked, scanning the various readouts in front of him for any signs of persuit.

"I was busy preventing the ship from crashing into Bayoon," Rob tonelessly answered, "I lost them after we passed over their vessels."

"Fair enough," Fox said. He didn't see anything on the sensors. That wasn't good. She was sure to be chasing them, and even if she wasn't, they couldn't have put enough distance between them to have lost her, even with the magnetic interference.

No, she had gone through God only knows how much trouble to track Fox through the swamps of Bayoon. She wouldn't give up that easily.

"Rob, bring up all external cameras on the command HUD. Lets see if she's close enough to get a visual."

Dozens of semi-translucent holographic images superimposed themselves over the bridge's main viewport, each showing a different view, caught by the Great Fox's many, tiny, external cameras. Some showed the ground, now far below as their ship climbed back toward space, others caught the distant vista of Aquas's surface, far above them across the cloudy expanse between it and it's moon, and the main viewport showed the sky ahead as it faded from blue to star filled blackness.

He combed over the cameras for several moments looking for her, but found nothing, which made him uncomfortable. She was after him. He knew it. The question was, where was she hiding her ship? There was no indication that she had latched her ship to the Great Fox's hull. At the speeds Rob had brought her in at, doing so would have been next to impossible without causing serious damage to her little gunship…she had to be following somehow.

His eye caught movement, not from the cameras, but in the viewport dead ahead. A reticule enclosed the distant, closing object, and magnified, revealing it as a CDF assault frigate. It was making straight for them, and closing fast. The local authorities had likely detected the Great Fox's impromptu orbital reentry, and had alerted the local task force. Moments later, various instruments on the main control terminal began blaring a lock-on warning.

"WARNING: HOSTILE VESSEL APPROACING. ESTIMATED TIME TO HOSTILE FIRING SOLUTION, ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY SEVEN SECONDS," the calm voice of the ship's computer announced.

Rob turned the ship sixty degrees away from the closing vessel, bringing the darkened horizon of Bayoon's night side into view as he set a course to skim its gravity well. They couldn't turn around completely to flee. Attempting to do so would only slow them down, and give the perusing vessel an easier target. This way the closing frigate would have to turn into their path to intercept them. This was a task that well suited the aggressive design of the well armed, swift assault ship, as most CDF frigates were built to be pursuit vessels, but it promised to buy Fox far more time than a game of chicken would.

"We'll need to make a detour through a nebula to lose them!" Fox barked, "How long until we can get a stable trajectory?"

"Six minutes before we are clear of Bayoon's gravity well, and ready to initiate warp," Rob responded, "I have already plotted several viable trajectories."

"ESTIMATED TIME TO HOSTILE FIRING SOLUTION, ONE HUNRED AND THIRTY ONE SECONDS" the computer said.

The maneuver hadn't bought them much time, and at this rate, they would be exposed to fire for four full minutes before they could escape. When Fox had chosen this design as his new carrier, he had opted for greater long range firepower, but weaker defense than the original Great Fox. The idea was for this Great Fox to serve as ranged support during missions, hanging back from the actual fighting, and launching long range, high-yield torpedoes in support of Star Fox team members during engagements. It also had larger hanger bays, and more sophisticated, automated maintenance systems, which made it better for longer missions and, after a few specific modifications, capable of being run by just Fox and Rob until it could be brought in for shipyard level maintenance and overhauls.

At the time it had all sounded good, but right now all it meant was weaker armor plating, and no point defense weapons or mid ranged laser cannons. Fox's only retaliatory option was his three remaining torpedoes, and he had no intention of using one of them to destroy a CDF vessel.

"SIXTY SECONDS TO HOSTILE FIRING SOLUTOIN."

He had to think of something…and he had to do it fast.

. . .

Falco sat with his head propped up on one arm, staring out the viewport beside his seat in the passenger compartment of the small shuttle that was carrying him, Katt, and Slippy to the Space Dynamics shipyard in orbit above Bayoon. Behind them, Basilica was just a shrinking outline, dotted with tons of little blinking lights. From where he was sitting, he could see that big cloud that went from Aquas to Bayoon, and he had to admit, the way the light reflected off of it from the sun made it one hell of a sight to see. Still, he was getting bored pretty quick.

Katt sat in the seat next to him, leaning back in her seat and listening to music on her PDU. She caught him looking over at her and smiled at him in a way that made him want to do something uncharacteristically romantic. Instead, he just smiled back. She went back to enjoying her music, and Falco's attention shifted, after a long, amorous look, to what Slippy was doing. He had his own PDU out, and was tapping away at its screen, probably setting everything up to get him and Katt their new ships. Falco had to hand it to the guy, when he set his mind to something, he went at it like a dog with a bone.

He let a short chuckle escape as he turned back to the viewport. He stared out for a moment before something caught his attention. It was far off, barely visible across the expansive vacuum, but he saw flashes near Bayoon. Streaking red flashes cutting across space between two objects.

"That's laserfire," he mumbled to himself, identifying which distant vessel was firing at which.

"What?" Katt said, leaning across him to look at the viewport, "Wow, you're right. I wonder what's going on…"

Falco double-tapped the viewport and it produced a reticule. It was just a sightseeing feature, but it would zoom. He dragged the reticule over the two tiny vessels and dragged the corners outward to magnify. What he saw made his mouth hang open.

Katt spoke first, saying, "Isn't that…?"

Slippy looked up to see what the commotion was, saw what they were looking at, and jumped to his feet, exclaiming, "It's the Great Fox!"

"And that's a CDF Frigate firing on it!" Falco growled, getting to his feet and leaping over the seats to get to the isle.

"What are you doing?" Katt asked.

"What should we do?" Slippy panicked.

Falco took another look out the viewport and said, "I'm gonna have a word with our pilot," then marched toward the cockpit at the front of the small shuttle.

The co-pilot looked back over his shoulder, and when he saw Falco approaching he stood up to block him.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to take your seat. The CDF are in pursuit of a vessel, and we have orders to steer cl-"

The ship's proximity alarm suddenly sounded loudly across the overhead speakers, and several small, sleek ships, some just still shimmering as they de-cloaked around their shuttle, broke away suddenly and sped off toward the fleeing Great Fox. Falco had seen ships like those before. All black, no insignia…Agents.

In a blink, Falco had his blaster out of its holster and pointed at the man in front of him. "Move!" he said waving him toward the passenger cabin. The man paled, and did as he was told. The pilot almost objected when Falco threw him out of his seat, and took the controls. Then he was the pistol in his hand and put his hands up. "Go join your friend," Falco instructed.

Agents. There had been three damn CIA Agents shadowing them. Falco pounded his fist on the armrest of his seat as he steered the little ship toward the firefight. He knew it! He knew they'd let him and Katt go too damn easy!

"For God's sake, Falco!" Katt yelled as he joined him in the cockpit, tossing herself down in the co-pilot's seat, "what the hell do you think you're gonna do, hijacking a damn _transport_ shuttle?"

"Um…guys?" Slippy's highly worried voice crept up from the back, "What's going on? Are we stealing the shuttle?"

"Just pipe down and keep an eye on those two back there, would ya Slip?" Falco shouted back.

"What are we going to do?" Katt persisted, "Take on a CDF Frigate in this bucket? Board the Fox's ship in the crossfire? Do we even have SHIELDS?"

"I'm gonna hail Fox!" Falco shouted back.

"And then what?" Katt shouted back even louder.

"I'LL FIGURE SOMETHING OUT!"

. . .

The Great Fox shuddered violently under the onslaught of the enemy frigate's guns. Alarms blared as the shields withered under one salvo after another.

"Rob!" Fox yelled over the noise, "how long until we have a trajectory?"

"Seventy seconds to achieveing safe warp trajectory," Rob responded with mounting urgency in his mechanical voice.

Another series of hits raked the ship as he lept to his feet and ran over to the weapons terminal.

"WARNING: SHIELD COLLAPSE IMMINANT," The computer announced.

Three additional red targeting reticules appeared on the heads up display, and when they zoomed in on their targets, Fox's heart nearly stopped. Three Agent seeker ships were cutting toward them through the vacuum, setting a course to use the CDF ship as cover for their approach.

He didn't even bother to sit as his hands flew over the weapons terminal. His three remaining torpedoes flashed green, and as he tapped one and targeted the nearby CDF frigate, it changed to red. Another series of hits hammered into his ship, and the pitch of the overhead alarm changed sharply.

"We've lost shields," Rob said, fingers blurring across his the instruments of the main command terminal, "diverting power to energize external armor."

The CDF ship's speed cut drastically as Fox's terminal signaled a lock-on. They were trying to maneuver behind them, but it was too late for that. There were roughly two hundred men aboard that frigate. Fox was keenly aware of that fact as he armed the torpedo, and jammed down the icon labeled 'FIRE.' The projectile left the Great Fox and streaked across the void, wheeling around sharply and heading straight toward the CDF ship. The vessel began a desperate evasive maneuver, attempting to swing its aft end fast enough to cause a miss, but it wouldn't work, not at that range.

Luckily for them, Fox had no intention of destroying their ship. All he wanted was to create a flashy diversion and to make them break off their attack, so, about one hundred yards from impact and just as the Agent vessels neared the frigate, he remote detonated the torpedo. The blast was powerful, flinging the smaller ships away like specks of dust in the wind and rattling every screw and bolt on the Great Fox as it and the attacking frigate lost sight of one another through the blinding, fiery light of the explosion. The Great Fox powered on while the blast dissipated. The captain of the CDF ship quickly realized it had been a bluff, and it began to correct its course and speed, but too late. By the time they resumed their pursuit and gained another firing solution, the Great Fox would be ready to hit warp. There was not time to feel satisfied though, he still had to work out what to do when he reached Zoness.

Fox stood.

He walked three steps.

It appeared.

The lock-on warning came too late.

As they rounded Bayoon in their bid to escape, a CDF cruiser, weapons primed and ready, fired a volley from its forward facing 406 mm, long range cannons as it emerged before them from behind the moon's horizon. The massive energy blasts flashed like horrifying green stars as they left their vessel's massive guns and cut across the space between the two ships like silent glowing death, their course leading them straight for the bridge.

In the precious two or three seconds before the blasts would reach them, the only thing that went through Fox's head was, _the shields are down..._

The movement didn't even register as a sharp impact to his chest sent him flying through the air and out the doors leading off the bridge as Rob hurtled him away. His mechanical hands then flew over the terminals for a only a moment before the blast doors slammed shut, and Fox's world thundered and shook, the barrage finding its mark.

Dumbstruck, he tried to get to his feet as the Great Fox's warp drive made every bulkhead vibrate, bending space around the ship, and propelling it forward.

He blinked, and a fraction of a second later, his mind snapped back to the reality of what had just happened. He looked grimly up at the solid, seemingly impenetrable blast doors...and he knew there was nothing on the other side of them.

Even so, he struggled to his feet, pain stabbing through his chest from the two ribs that had snapped when Rob had hit him, and slid along the bulkhead, over to the nearby wall terminal. He used his password to override the security, and accessed a functioning bridge camera.

…There was nothing but twisted, glowing metal and the long streaks of the stars in the emptiness beyond.

Rob was gone.

After over twenty years...

_ "What's in the box, Dad?"_ _a young boy asked his father as he openly gawks at the large crate labled 'Aqua-Tech Robotics'._

_ "This," a proud father told his son, "will be the navigation officer on Star Fox team's carrier! After we put him together, of course."_

Fox slumped against the wall, slid down, and dropped his weary weight against the ground as he sat. Alarms continued to blare, but all he could hear was the past as it echoed through his mind.

_"Wow!" The boy shouted, "Are we gonna build him? When?"_

_ The father laughed. "Just you and me kid," he said, rustling his son's hair, "as soon as I get back from this assignment. Now go get your mom, I wan't to show her."_

The very last tie to his father…his friend for most of his life…and he was gone._  
_

_ "Alright!" the boy said as he jumped up excitedly and ran off, calling back over his shoulder, "I wanna call him Rob!"_


	21. Chapter 21

**Warp**

The alarms overhead didn't stop, even though the Great Fox was at warp. They only changed. Disorientation, noise, and pain filled Fox's entire world as, every so often, the ship would shudder as the unstable envelope of normal space around it shifted, putting massive stress on the hull as its protection from the compressed space around it strengthened and waned.

"WARNING: WARP DRIVE USTABLE. CURRENT TRAJECTORY COMPROMISED. FAILSAFES UNRESSPONSIVE. MANUAL SHUTDOWN REQUIRED," the computer repeated every few seconds.

Rob, in order to save Fox, had managed to get the ship to warp, but he'd had to do so prematurely. They had still been too close to Bayoon's gravity well. Worse, when the bridge got hit, several of the ship's systems had taken damage, including the failsafes that would normally bring the ship out of warp in the event of a rough jump.

Fox hobbled down the passageway toward the lift that would take him down three decks to engineering. He had no idea how to shut the engines down, and nobody was there to walk him though it. He'd had to hook his wrist unit into the ship's computer and download the emergency protocols, which now shown on its screen. It said to make his way down to the engine room and manually shut down certain systems in a _very_ precise order in order to bring the ship safely out of warp. He barely understood what it was telling him, but he knew that if he screwed this up, say by accidentally shutting down the system that maintained the normal space around the ship, when the space around them re-expanded, his ship would go with it. The molecules that comprise himself and everything around him would be stretched over several hundred thousand miles of vacuum.

His breathing came in shallow, painful rasps as he forced himself forward, one step at a time. His leg shot fresh agony through him whenever he applied weight to it, and he was having trouble staying focused. Every so often his head would spin harshly, and he would have to brace himself against the bulkhead until it passed.

"Orian," Fox rasped.

"I'm here Fox," Orian answered, sounding very concerned, "please, you need to lie down, at least until I can determine what is happening in your body. If you continue to push yourself…"

"Can't…stop," Fox said, "if we don't…don't shut down the warp d…drive, the ship'll rattle itself…ah…rattle itself apart," he stopped to let himself breath for a few moments before forcing himself off the bulkhead, and continuing his march, saying, "that happens…we're dead anyway."

"I know, I know," Orian returned, "but, well, you remember what I told you back on Bayoon? There's no telling how the nanites are going to respond to your current condition, and all this moving is increasing their rate of circulation…"

Fox kept going, despite the warning, but he was every bit as concerned as Orian. Back on Aquas's moon, before Warren had woken up, Orian had told him something disturbing. At some point after their contact with the marker signal, the medical nanites which Orian had injected into Fox back on Titania had evidently reactivated. According to Orian, these nanites were used to implant something called 'anima', which was some sort of adaptive tissue. It supposedly took on the qualities of whatever material it was bonded to, and Orian had used it to patch what was left of his damaged internal organs after the worm had injected him. After their job was complete, the medical nanites in his body deactivated, and were meant to be naturally passed out of his system.

Why they were still in his body, or why and how they had reactivated themselves, Orian didn't know. He said they weren't responding to his commands, and were operating independently. At the time, he had assured Fox that they didn't seem to be doing much of anything, but had warned about the potential for 'mutations' if the nanites began spreading anima where it wasn't needed. Before he could elaborate, Warren had woken up.

"Has there…been any signs," Fox managed as he limped into the lift, and hit the button for the engineering deck, "of those…possible…mutations you…you mentioned earlier?"

"No," Orian said with obvious relief, "none so far. The nanites are designed to navigate your body, and apply anima, but they have no way of producing it, so, as long as you aren't given any anima, the chances of them spreading excess material are very low. As I said before, as they are, they shouldn't be able to cause much harm. My concern is why they reactivated in the first place, and why they are ignoring my commands to shut down. They refuse to even communicate with me, so all I can do at the moment is track the signals they are exchanging with your brain."

"Signals?"

"Yes, impulses traveling from your brain to the rest of your body. Your cerebral implants receive these signals as well, and the medcial nanites seem to be receiving information from _them_, and then, well, reacting…."

The lift began its decent as Fox asked, "what k…what kind of information?"

"Just regular impulses, pain, and fluctuation caused by emotional disturbance, worry, anger, that sort of thing. So far they don't seem to be doing much of anything productive...as far as I can tell, anyway. In your current state, though, the amount of chatter is chaotic. The nanites seem to be rather frenzied."

Fox grabbed his chest suddenly as sharp pain shot from his broken ribs. He fell backward against the wall, and sharply inhaled though clenched teeth. It faded, and after a few moments, he recovered, straightening himself up as best he could. He'd had broken bones before, but they'd never hurt like this. It was possible there had been additional damage. He brought up a hand to wipe away the spit that he felt at the corner of his mouth, but when he brought it down, the side of his hand was streaked with watery blood. His shallow breathing, faint burbling sounds as he exhaled, and now blood in his spit…had to be a punctured lung.

"Fox…" Orian began.

"I'll be fine," Fox said, mind beginning to swim, "Primary objective… is to disable the…the warp drive…"

"Objective?" Fox heard Orian ask, sounding confused. His voice was starting to sound like it was far away.

The lift came to a stop, and the door opened. Fox took a few steps, and his head spun again, this time much more harshly. He lurched on his feet, but managed to stay standing. His body was becoming heavy as he continued to will his legs to move, one at a time. Ahead of him, his world narrowed, and the passageway seemed to stretch on and on. He became vaguely aware of a faint warming sensation in his ribcage.

He had to reach the engines…he couldn't stop now…couldn't let his body shut down...if he allowed himself to die here, then he'd let Rob die for nothing...he would fail his friend completely. His vision continued to narrow as blackness encroached from the edges of his sight. He realized he couldn't feel the pain anymore. He couldn't feel his feet as they struck the deck. He was losing the fight to stay conscious.

…

…

No…

Not yet…he had a mission…had to complete…his mission.

The darkness crept back, staying just at the peripheries of his vision as some unknown reserve of strength seemed to enter his system. Step by step. Foot by foot. He moved forward. Driven more by instinct than willpower, the only sound was the beating of his own heart…his only thought, to keep moving.

. . .

She moved quickly, but quietly through the narrow passageways of McCloud's ship, making not a sound as the biomechanics of her suit adjusted under her feet to eliminate noise. Fox's position was displayed on the heads up display of her helmet's visor as she tracked him through the ship. Her suit's A.I. had managed to hack some of the ship's systems just in the nick of time. Another bloody second and that CDF ship's relentless salvos would have turned her into a very fine mist.

_Uncle would have been rather upset_, she thought to herself, _if, of course, there had been enough of me left to identify…_

This ship's shields had been all that had saved her, and they had failed a scant few seconds after she had gotten the external hatch open. She'd no sooner gotten it closed again, than all manner of alarm had gone off around her. At first she had thought the hack job had been sloppy, and she'd been detected, but she soon realized it was because she was standing in an airlock while the ship was preparing for warp.

Luckily enough, she hadn't been noticed in all the commotion, and she her suit now had access to the ship's internal tracking systems. Her A.I. was still working on security systems, and door controls, but the level of protection around these systems were more difficult, and after the bridge had apparently been destroyed, it had started to have problems, as the systems it was hacking had become damaged in some places. Still, this suit was the best money could buy, so if it couldn't handle it, it just wasn't meant to be.

The relief of realizing that Fox had, in fact, _not_ been on the bridge when it had been destroyed was only just wearing off, as, ahead, her passageway ended at an intersection with another, much wider one. According to her display, Fox was making his way down that very passage, and should pass by this way. She pressed her back against the wall, and activated her suit's personal shield. McCloud was notoriously good with a firearm, according to his reputation, and she had no intention of getting into a firefight. She wanted him alive, after all.

He was also rather good at hand to hand combat, if memory served, but she knew he was hurt. He'd taken a graze from one of those clumsy Aquan hunters' nillium enhanced blasters before performing his rather impressive aerial stunt before, and she was wearing a suit of biotic armor. The bio-mechanical material the suit was made of enhanced her physical performance significantly, making her twice as fast as a bare opponent, and significantly stronger as well. She would just wear him down, subdue him, and finally bring this entire ordeal to a close. She was, of course, understandably conflicted when it came to whether or not to actually turn him in afterwards. This was Fox McCloud, after all! He was a hero…her childhood hero, leastwise.

The ship shuddered, and its computer issued its warning about the warp drive again. Once she had Fox secured, she would head over to engineering and see if she couldn't get the ship out of warp. If she could access the main navigation matrix, then her A.I. should be able to guide this bucket back into normal space without a hitch.

Her 'friend' Jamie had spent days crunching numbers and cooking books to cover this suit's expense, as well as the cost of his assistance, but it had been well worth it!

It was time.

She rounded the corner quickly, prepared square off with the man who had, all those years ago, saved her life, but what she saw in front of her made her bite her tongue.

There was Fox. He moved slowly, feet dragging with each ponderous step. His eyes were flat, red, and lifeless, and they stared right though her as he marched slowly but steadily forward. His breathing sounded weak as his mouth hung slightly open, blood trickling from the corners of it and dripping steadily from his chin.

He continued his march without even seeing her, coming ever closer. Panic gripped her as she watched. Had he been hit? What was wrong with him?

"Fox!" She yelled, "For God's sake, man, can you hear me?"

He stopped cold. His eyes gained a bit of focus as they scanned around, and then found her.

"You need medical attention!" she urged, forgetting all about capturing him in his condition, "Come with me, we'll get you to an infirmary, and I'll try to shut down the warp drive…"

She trailed off when she noticed how he was looking at her. He was aware of her now, but there was something wrong. His eyes were locked on her with a savage intensity, like an animal about to strike. His body shifted into an aggressive stance, and his breathing slowed.

"Fox," she said with a deliberate, calm, but warning tone, "you're in no condition to-"

He moved faster than she thought possible. Her suit reacted, bringing her into a defensive posture. Even so, she only blocked the first strike. The second drove Fox's palm into her stomach, and was immediately followed by an upward sweeping kick to her head. The armor absorbed the entire trauma, so she barely even felt the blows, but the sheer force of it drove her back several paces, and the kick nearly toppled her.

His attack continued relentlessly, and even with her armor, she was having trouble keeping up. His attacks were vicious. Every opening she left was met with harsh strikes, and every missed blow she threw with staggering counters. At this rate, Fox couldn't do any real harm to her, but if he was as hurt as he appeared to be, then he would likely do more damage to himself. She had to end this.

She pushed the limits of the suit's agility with a low, sweeping kick. Fox wasn't able to keep up with the sheer speed of it, and it knocked his feet out from under him. He broke his fall, and rolled out of reach before she could attack, but that was fine. She only needed a moment to draw.

With a fine hum, energy flowed into her rapier as it flew from its sheath. It wasn't bladed, but the slender sword was charged, and right now she had it set to fifty percent.

"Stand DOWN, Mr. McCloud!" she warned, but, as she thought, he either couldn't hear her, or wasn't listening. Whatever was wrong with him, she was going to have to bring him down.

Fox began circling her slowly as she readied her stance, bringing up the tip of her blade toward her opponent. She allowed him to circle around to her left, appearing to leave herself open. He took the bait, charging in swift and low, but before he could get close enough to land a hit, she spun away, bringing her sword down in a lightning fast arch that connected solidly with the base of his neck. The energy crackled from the blade and jumped along his spine as he charged passed.

He toppled forward, but rather than falling unconscious, he caught himself, landing on his hands and knees. At fifty percent, her blade should have been able to subdue a man of well over two hundred pounds. That he was still conscious was incredible.

She readied herself for another pass as he slowly got to his feet. But, rather than attack again, he pressed a hand to his head, stumbled a few steps, and steadied himself…

. . .

Fox's head spun wickedly as he stood in the center of the passageway. The events of the last few minutes had felt like a dream, a haze, like he was watching his own actions though his own eyes, but they hadn't been his, like an observing bystander trapped inside himself. He turned to look at the bounty hunter he'd just been fighting, her stun-saber up and at the ready.

He tried to say something, but in the effort, he succumbed to a harsh, racking fit of wet coughing. He felt bits of something come up and out as he brought a hand up in front of his mouth and fell back against the wall.

When it passed, if felt like the whole world was flying in a sickening circle around him. He looked at his hand, and it was covered in a dark blue liquid. It felt like blood as he rubbed it between his fingers, with tiny chunks of grey tissue intermixed. He then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and fond more it.

"Orian…" he muttered, the spinning growing worse and worse, "Orian…what…?"

The darkness finally closed around his vision, and he felt himself go limp.


	22. Chapter 22

**Wolf**

It was pretty late. Sundown had been a few hours ago, and, outside, the streets of Andoria were lit with street lamps, neon lights, and holograms as the city's nightlife prowled for entertainment after a long day of work. Panther was out there somewhere, probably still sulking in some bar or nightclub. He'd come back yesterday, over two days after Wolf had told him to report and in a piss poor mood because his girl had bolted, and when Leon relayed Wolf's order to stay put, he'd bitched about wanting to go looking for her again.

That was about all Wolf had been able to take. Panther was free to do whatever the hell he wanted on his own time, but when Wolf needed his men to do something, it had damn well better get done! There was no room in StarWolf for insubordination. Panther was a good pilot, and damn good in a fight, but he wasn't indispensable, and Wolf reminded him of that. He gave him twenty-four hours to get his shit straight. He wasn't to leave Venom, and if he wasn't back before his time was up, StarWolf would be looking for a new pilot. Wolf wasn't too concerned about Krystal up and leaving. His squadron usually operated on a three man basis anyway. There had been times when there had been a fourth, like Pigma and that idiot Oikony, but they typically didn't last long. Krystal had proven herself to be useful enough over the last few years, but she wasn't someone the Squadron couldn't live without. Besides that, she tended to rub him the wrong way. Wolf always got the feeling that she needed the squadron more than the squadron needed her, and if there was one thing he hated, it was the feeling that he was carrying someone else's baggage.

But those were problems for later. Right now, Wolf was sitting in the reception area of the offices of the Governor of Venom. Bowman had hit planet-side less than an hour ago after wrapping up his business on Cornaria. From what Wolf understood, it hadn't gone well. Rather than easing the blockades all over Lylat as he'd intended, the only thing he'd apparently managed to accomplish was getting the CDF taskforce above Venom doubled. The governor hadn't even landed yet when Wolf got his call. He'd walked into the central building about five minutes ago, taken the elevator up to the top floor, and now sat in a cushioned chair and waited for Bowman's secretary to wave him in.

Wolf had been here a couple days ago to try and talk to Bowman about the situation with Leon, but he'd gotten turned aside at the front desk. At the time, Dash had just left, and all Wolf could do was leave a damn message. Now, when the table turned around and Bowman wanted to see Wolf, calls were made, people were moving, and the whole damn planet seemed to suddenly have a fire under its ass.

"Politics," Wolf growled under his breath.

The secretary, sitting at her desk across the room, suddenly brought up a hand to touch the earpiece she wore that allowed Bowman to speak directly to her, stood, and stammered, "Wha-uh...yes sir, of course…"

Before she could finisher her sentence, the door to the Governor's office opened, and, rather than inviting Wolf in, Dash came marching out at a very important looking stride. The kid had a look on his face that said he was all business and no bullshit, the cold, angry glint in his eye reciprocated the mood, and Wolf caught the familiar scent of money wafting into his current situation.

"Come with me," Dash said, not slowing down at all as he passed by.

Wolf got to his feet, and kept pace with the kid as they moved toward the elevator Wolf himself had just come up on. Once inside, the doors slid shut and both Bowman and Wolf stood silently as they began their decent. The indicator above the door flashed consecutively lower numbers until, around the thirteenth floor, Dash's wave phone chirped, and the elevator came to a sudden halt.

The young governor pulled out the phone, glanced at something displayed on its screen, then blew out a relieved breath and seemed to relax, if only slightly. After a moment, the elevator began to move again, but this time, the numbers began to increase as it climbed rather than descended.

Wolf frowned and said, "Mind telling me what that was all about?"

Bowman ran a hand through his slicked back hair, collected himself a bit, and answered, "It may surprise you, but Cornaria likes to keep a close eye on me. They have surveillance systems all over this building, and I couldn't talk until I knew we were clear. Now, I have a job for you and your team, O'Donnell."

"I figured as mu-"

"But before we get to that, I need to know I can trust you," Bowman cut in, turning to shoot Wolf a steely look out of the corner of his eye.

"My loyalty is to my wallet and my men. If you have our money, then we've got your back," Wolf answered, caution creeping into his gut. Whatever was going on here, he was starting to think it was the kind of thing men disappear off the streets over, only to show up later in some river somewhere or swinging from a rope and wearing a suicide note in someone else's handwriting, "So, what the hell is going on here, Bowman?"

"You don't have any great love for Cornairia, am I wrong, O'Donnell?" Bowman asked.

"These days, who does, but what does that-?"

"Even though you're Cornarian?" the kid pressed.

"Tch!" Wolf spat, getting annoyed, "Bein' born somewhere doesn't mean that's your home, boy."

Bowman seemed to mull that over for a second or two, closed his eyes long enough to take in a deep breath and blow it out again, then opened them and calmly said, "No, I don't suppose it does."

The elevator chimed at it reached its destination. The indicator said "ROOF ACCESS" and from beyond the closed metal doors came the dull, muffled wine of idling ship engines. Bowman positioned himself between Wolf and the doors, locked eyes, and said, "O'Donnell, I'm going to need you to make a decision. I'm going to show you something, something that could get both of us killed and our bodies swept under the council's collective rug, after which I plan to divulge certain information that could easily cause much worse. What I offer in exchange is no small amount of monetary compensation, but, also, something far more valuable. Under my protection, you and your men have enjoyed relative freedom from the Cornairan Federation, and, I assure you, even now they would love to try you for treason for all the things you've done in your _colorful_ past. Care to deny it?

Wolf's eyes narrowed. He didn't like how much that little statement sounded like blackmail. "What of it?" he asked, coldly.

"I don't pretend to know who you are Wolf," Bowman continued, "but I know the look of a dog who's been kicked one too many times, and you're _not_ alone. Cornaria's been putting its heels to every system of Lylat for damn near a century, and from what I've seen it doesn't look like that's going to end anytime soon, not unless something changes."

"Look here boy," Wolf snarled across at Dash, cutting him off, "I've heard my share of that kind of talk. I've been on the wrong side of too many so called revolutions, alleged resistances, and failed civil wars. Nothing EVER changes. That's just how it is…"

"So you're just going to roll over and die then?" Bowman sneered pointedly, "Wolf O'Donnell, once the most feared outlaw in Lylat, and now you're just going to go belly up because Cornaria beat you down a few too many times, that it? They say '_heel´_ and you-"

In a blink, Wolf was across the elevator with Bowman slammed against the elevator doors, his neck locked in Wolf's fist as they eyed each other down.

"Better," Dash manned to say, wincing, but with a satisfied smile on his face.

After a second or two, Wolf dropped him. Dash fell forward, bringing his hand to his neck and coughing as he got back to his feet. Behind him, the elevator doors opened, intensifying the high whine of engine wash. Outside, parked on the small landing pad atop the central building's roof was a sleek, military-grey shuttle with three little domes protruding from the tops of each wing that looked an awful lot like stealth field projectors.

"You have two options right now O'Donnell!" Venom's governor barked over the din, still rubbing at his neck, "either take this elevator back down to ground, keep your head down, and wait for this all to blow over – God knows no one could blame you – or come with me, and I'll show you what a fighting chance looks like!"

For a moment, there was nothing on that roof but engine wash, Wolf, and a kid with something like ambition in his eye…ambition, and maybe hope…hope was something Wolf had had little and less of in his years adrift.

With a grunt, Wolf took a step toward the shuttle. It was followed in quick succession by another, and then another…hell, maybe there were two ambitious men up here.

No sooner were they aboard than the stealth field kicked in. There was a sound like cloth flapping in the wind, and then there was no sound at all. The only thing Wolf could hear was his own breathing, accompanied by the steady beating of his heart. It was like being in the vacuum. He threw his weight down in a nearby seat, pulled the safety harness over his shoulders and around his chest, and waited for the shuttle to take off. Bowman sat across from him and did the same, and as soon as he was strapped in, the little vessel shook, accelerated, and climbed to a low cruising altitude.

Wolf found it hard to gauge time in the muted world inside the shuttle, but he guessed at about fifteen minutes, no longer, before they began to descend. All in all, they'd probably covered about three hundred miles, give or take, judging by the speed the little craft was booking along at. Below them, the land narrowed into small peninsula, probably no more than a few miles wide, with steep cliff faces sheering down into rolling sea on all sides. As the craft descended near the peninsula's center, the waters disappeared, and all that could be seen was rapidly approaching earth. The shuttle was slowing, but there was no landing pad out there that Wolf could see…

The craft shook as its landing gear found solid ground, and it nestled to a halt. They sat for a few seconds, but kept the stealth field on. The around them shook, and the shuttle suddenly began to sink.

_Hologram_, Wolf thought as the earth rose up and enclosed the entire ship. Once they were through, he could see the metal conveyor that they had actually landed on as it decended, carrying them with it. The stealth field disengaged, and sound reentered Wolf's world. It made his ears twitch.

"Something eerie about stealth flight," Dash said, getting to his feet as the hatch opened, "Come on, they view is better from the outside."

Wolf did as he was told, unstrapped, and walked out of the shuttle, joining Bowman on the wide metal platform as it moved down at about a sixty degree incline. At first there was nothing much to look at, just dark stone walls, barely illuminated by the platform's floor imbedded light fixtures. Then the platform shook, coming to a brief stop before moving again, this time straight down. They continued in darkness for a few moments, and then, as they moved down, the walls became transparent. Above them, the stony bottom of the peninsula jutted out into open sea, held up by massive pillars made of something Wolf couldn't identify. Below them, there were lights, enormous, shining domes of light. The domes seemed to encompass a massive complex which sprawled out beneath them, and as they grew ever closer, Wolf was able to make out the forms what must have been hundreds of fish-like people moving through the waters.

"Anglars?" Wolf said, "I thought they all died when we terraformed the sea…"

"That's was the official story," Bowman answered, "and that's what I told the council."

There was a pause before Dash continued, "They wanted them hunted down and killed…all of them, nothing but Andros's bio-engineered abominations, as far as the council was concerned. But that's not what I saw. I saw people, and like everyone else on this damn planet, they were people who needed a new start. So I told Cornaria that they had all died, that they were designed to survive in the 'toxic' Venomonian Sea, and that fresh water was like poison to them…" Bowman gave a short, half-hearted laugh, "Just one of the lies I've had to weave to keep Cornaira out of this place. In actuality, they have an organ to process the formerly toxic waters. In fresh water, it just doesn't have to do anything. Sometimes there are complications with the young ones, but it's a simple operation to remove the thing, then they're right as rain."

They were pretty close to the domes now, and, peering in, Wolf saw that some housed foundries, others, factories…and others, shipyards. There had to be hundreds of them, and each flashed and sparked as the massive vessels they surrounded were pieced together, bit by bit.

"After the Blitz," Dash continued while Wolf gawked at what he was seeing, "Cornaira destroyed every known Anglar base on Venom, except the facilities beneath Andoria."

"Beneath where?" Wolf asked.

"The city sprung up in a little over a year, O'Donnell," Dash continued, "the council doesn't spend that kind of money unless they have a damn good reason. Those facilities were one of Andros's legacies, capable of producing at least a dozen warships a day, given enough resources, and Cornaria wanted to ensure they would be put to good use should they ever have need of them. What they don't know is that the Anglars had had plenty of time to study them, and to build their own. They were pretty grateful to me for protecting them, you see, and they insisted on making themselves useful…"

"How many of these complexes did they build?" Wolf asked, still staring as the conveyor neared the sea floor.

"Hundreds," came Bowman's answer as he stepped next to Wolf and stared out into the illuminated waters along with him, "they've built hundreds."

"I don't want war, Wolf," Bowman said in a heavy tone, "Heaven help us, we've seen enough of it already, but Cornaria has to see that the rest of Lylat's worlds are more than just her colonies. We are equals, and if we have to bloody the council's nose to show them, then at least we'll have a fighting chance."

"Diplomacy at gunpoint, huh?" Wolf said, grinning to himself "Alright Bowman, I'm in. What's the mission?"

Dash gave a relieved sigh. "Good to have you, O'Donnell, your name carries more weight than you know. But, besides that, I need you to find something. It's something that's very important to Cornaria, and something that has already caused Lylat no end of grief. If we can get our hands on it first, then we tip the scales of this conflict in our favor before it even starts."

"What is it?"

"It's a long story, one the Anglars told me," Bowman answered, "but what you're looking for is something called the_ Cipher."_

"How do I find it? We have any leads?" Wolf asked.

"One," Bowman said, "McCloud."

"You want me to bring him in?"

"No, but I think he knows something. Talk to your people, see if there's a connection. If you have to confront McCloud, then do it, but Wolf," Bowman said, staring distantly out across the illuminated ocean floor, "the objective is the Cipher, remember that."

Wolf grunted. All things considered, direct contact with Fox probably wouldn't be the best course of action anyway. Cornaria didn't seem to be pulling any punches in hunting him down, and as long as they stayed focused on him, they wouldn't be paying much attention to Wolf and his team. If it turned out he had to take Fox down, then so be it, but, for the moment at least, Wolf was thinking the best place to start would be tracing McClouds path of destruction. Find out who Fox has been talking to, and see if he can't learn something that way.

"Right," Wolf said, "so, how about you get started on that story, and tell me what exactly I'm supposed to be looking for."


	23. Chapter 23

**Falco**

Out of one damn prison and into another…

Still, all-in-all, things weren't _that_ bad. If you really looked at it, they could have ended up in a whole lot more of a mess for hijacking that shuttle than they actually did, especially considering the fact that most of Lylat was under gridlock by the CDF lately. Those damn vultures were out for blood wherever they could find it, seemed like, so they were pretty lucky to just be detained, the way Falco saw it. Besides, so far nobody had even asked them any questions. They were brought onboard a CDF frigate and held there for about an hour before being transferred over to a fleet destroyer, the CFF Constitution. Peppy had probably pulled some strings. More than likely, they'd be hearing from him pretty soon, and then they could get things sorted out, maybe get some help from the old hare, and be back on Fox's trail in no time. Right?

Falco nodded to himself as he sat in his corner of the holding cell. Across from him, on the far side of the room, Kat was lying on her back, with her head propped against the wall and her arms folded across her chest as she deliberately stared a burning hole into the wall, refusing to so much as acknowledge Falco's existence. Slippy sat silently on the bed near the tiny view port between them and to the rear of the cell, staring dourly at his feet. He hadn't spoken since the incident. After a shouting match back on the CDF ship, Katt hadn't said a word either, and Falco didn't want to be the first one to speak, so they all sat in silence.

He glanced over at Katt. She stared at the wall. He looked forward again.

Damn it! They were acting like this was all his fault! Sure, pulling a gun on the pilots might have been a bit over the top, but could they cut him a little slack? That was an intense situation! Fox was RIGHT THERE for God's sake! If he'd just been able to open a com link with the Great Fox then…well…then SOMETHING! It wasn't his fault that Fox had gone to warp before he could contact him…and they all saw the bridge get hit. Maybe everyone was just worried about Fox?

Falco let out a heavy breath. He was more than a little worried himself, truth be told. He knew Fox was good, and if anyone could get themselves out of a mess like that, it was him, but…well…what if he was on that bridge? What if he didn't…?

He shook his head to clear it of the unwanted train of thought. There was no point sitting here moping over what _might_ have happened. He had to assume Fox hadn't been on that bridge, because…because…well, damn it, because if he gave up on Fox now, and it turned out he was still kicking, then he wouldn't be able to look himself in the mirror if he didn't try to help him out!

Falco kicked the wall in frustration. This made Katt turn and look at him just long enough for their eyes to meet before they both stubbornly went back to staring at the wall.

After a moment, her tail began a steady flick. This was usually a good sign. Whenever Falco and her had an argument, she'd give him the cold shoulder for a little while, but it just wasn't in her to hold a grudge for too long, and sooner or later she'd try to smooth things out. She had a knack for that. Falco was convinced there wasn't anyone else in the damn world that could make him as angry as she could, but, at the same time, it was also kind of unnerving how quick she could cool him down again…most of the time. In any event, whenever she started to simmer down after a fight, her tail would start to flick.

After a moment, she sighed, unfolded her arms, and sat up. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word Falco blurted, "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I saw Fox was in trouble, and I wanted to help him, so I kinda flew off the handle."

"Yeah well," Katt said with a guilty smile, "you two are pretty close, or you used to be, and it's not like I was giving you any better ideas." She stood up and walked across the room, plopping herself down on the bench, next to Falco. "Do you," she said, hesitantly and in a whisper so Slippy couldn't hear, "do you think he's okay?"

"Slippy?" Falco asked, giving the guy a quick glance, "I think he'll be alright."

"Not Slippy. Fox!" Katt corrected, "if he was on the bridge…"

"I know," Falco said, wincing a bit, "but I already decided that he wasn't."

Katt let out a soft, half-hearted chuckle. "You decided that, did you?" she said.

"Yep," Falco answered, "no point thinking about something we can't do anything about, so we assume Fox is okay, and we keep looking for him as soon as we get out of here."

She chuckled again, this time with a little more heart, saying, "I thought I was supposed to be the optimistic one in this relationship."

Falco did his best not to show any discomfort. She always had to throw the 'R' word out there. He supposed that they _were_ in one, but that word just made him uncomfortable. Over the years, Falco had had his share of flings, hook-ups, wild nights, good times, you name it, but _relationship_? The word just seemed so…so...official? Binding, maybe?

Katt caught him blushing, and a toying grin spread across her face as she said, "Oh, that's right, you don't like that word, do you? **Re**-**lay**-**shun**-**ship**, I mean."

Falco felt his face get hot again. This time he closed his eyes and took deep breaths as his frown deepened. She was trying to get a reaction. If he could keep her from getting it-

Katt put her lips a hair's breath away from Falco's ear and whispered, "With..._relations._"

Her warm breath so close to his face made his eyes pop back open. This made Katt giggle, but before she could withdraw, victorious, Falco did the only thing he could think of. He played his trump card. Faster than she could react, he reached forward, pulling her in close, and kissed her. She only struggled for a second before giving in, returning the affection and wrapping her arms around his neck. When the kiss ended they pulled apart again, Katt curling up against his side as they sat.

With the tables now reversed and Katt lowering her defenses, Falco issued his coup de grace. Leaning over so they were looking at each other, he looked into her eyes as she so clearly expected something romantic, reached around to grab her ass instead and said, "I'd do more, but I think Slippy would get excited, right Slip?" intentionally loud enough for him to hear.

Falco looked up at Slippy, but he didn't respond, didn't even seem to have heard him. He just kept staring at his feet.

Still, Katt turned scarlet, and sank her claws into Falco's arm. When it came to this game, both he and Katt had their weaknesses. In Falco's case, he really hated PDA (Public Displays of Affection). He wasn't a romantic kind of guy, and those situations made him feel awkward as hell. The kiss just then had been an act of despiration, a necessary sacrifice to set up the finishing blow.

Katt's Achilles heel was actually pretty similar to Falco's, except rather than romance, it was lude displays that made her blush. Because they both required the same conditions (an audience) it basically boiled down to whichever one of them could lead the situation their way would win, and most of the time that was Katt, so Falco really had to cherish moments like these.

He won, he knew it, and Katt knew it. She shot him a short glare that seemed to say "_You cheated!_" before she resumed curling up next to him.

There was a long silence. It stretched on for a several minutes before it was finally broken, unexpectedly, by Slippy. He looked up at Falco and Katt. They looked back at him, Katt with her eyebrows raised quizzically. Slippy took a long, drawn out breath, and said, "Amanda is gonna kill me."

Falco started laughing, and Katt covered her mouth with a hand to hide her smile.

"I'm serious!" Slippy said, looking genuinely distressed, which, of course, only made Falco laugh harder, "When she finds out I'm in jail, she's going to have a conniption! She probably won't talk to me for at least a week, and the kids…"

Falco's laughter abated, but he couldn't wipe the grin off of his face to save his life.

"How long do you think they'll hold us this time?" Katt asked, still smiling.

"Oh, not too much longer," someone else answered, sounding tired and highly agitated, "just long enough for me to say my piece."

Falco's grin evaporated into a flinch before he could look over at the other side of the force field that sealed them in the cell. There stood Peppy, much older looking than he ought to, it seemed, but in the flesh no less. His face was locked in a humorless glower, and his eyes weighed Falco down with disapproval.

A few seconds of that was about all he was willing to take.

"Would ya quit with the glare already?" Falco said, scowling back as he got to his feet and took to the offensive, "What'd ya expect me to do? Fox was right in front of me!"

"And he _was_ being attacked by the CDF," Katt came to his defense.

"And what was with those damn Agent ships tailing me!" Falco almost yelled, "Don't try to tell me you didn't know about it!"

"Alright," Peppy said, cold anger under his tone, "I won't. I told the council to have you followed."

"Why would you do that?" Slippy pitched in, confused, "W-we all kind of thought you'd -you know- be on our side here…"

"I told them to tail you because I'm the Consulate General of Cornaria," Peppy said, starting off calmly, "I have to at least appear to be cooperating with the council, so I told them you'd go straight after Fox as soon as they released you from Titania, that you'd lead them straight to him…"

Falco tried to say something offensive, but the old hare just kept on.

"I told them what I THOUGHT was a pretty clever LIE!" Peppy boomed, "Because I knew you stood about a snowball's chance in HELL of finding Fox when he was on the run! Who would have guessed that by some happy _coincidence_ that you would actually pull it off!"

There was a good bit of color in Peppy's face as he yelled through the field, "But God help us all, Falco, you managed to be at the _exact_ WRONG place at the _exact _WRONG time! Now, according to the sit-rep on this mess, for all we know Fox may be dead!"

Falco's hands curled into fists as he glared at Peppy. "And how the hell was I supposed to know you had me tailed? _For all we know_ if you'd had a little faith in me, maybe we'd have been able to help him!" he yelled back through the field.

The two shot daggers at one another for a few moments before Katt broke in, saying, "Okay, okay, we all screwed up, alright?"

Falco turned his back to Peppy and walked off to the other side of the cell.

"Whatever," he said, over his shoulder "is this what you came all the way here for, old man? To blow smoke?"

"My official reason for being here is classified," Peppy answered, seeming to calm down a bit by his tone, "but I can tell you why I went through all the trouble of having you transferred into Fleet custody."

"And?" Falco asked, impatiently.

"Since you're all so adamant about perusing Fox, and because I'm positive Fox's only chance of survival is for someone other than Cromwell's private army to bring him in-"

"Um," Slippy cut in, sounding confused, "who's Cromwell, and why does he have an army?"

Katt gave him a sympathetic glance, and answered, "He's talking about the CDF Slippy, Cromwell's their Director."

"Oh…" Slippy said, looking embarrassed.

"So you're sicking us on Fox, right?" Falco said, turning back toward Peppy and shooting him an indignant glare, "And you actually expect us to bring him in if we find him? Do I even know you anymore, old man? Maybe that fancy suit you've been wearin's gone to your freakin' head, but I'm on Fox's side here, and the PLAN is to _help_ him."

Peppy was silent for a moment, but his eyes burned back at Falco with hot anger. He never had gotten along with this old hare...

"Listen good you little shit," the old general said, barely seeming to keep himself in check, "I'm only going to say this once. I made a promise to my friend, made it while he was trading his life for mine, that I'd look after his son, no matter what the cost, and make no mistake, I would die a slow, painful death before I let anything happen to James' boy. But there are bigger forces at work here than you're piss poor perspective could possibly grasp. If we don't bring Fox in, if he keeps wreaking havoc all over Lylat and keeps digging into what I think he's uncovered, then there won't be anything anyone short of God can do for him!"

"Digging into?" Katt asked, "Do you know why he's doing all this? What is it he's after?"

"I'm just...going off of theories," Peppy said, a somber, almost shameful expression creeping in to replace his anger, "but that's not something I can tell any of you. It's a secret I've kept for a long, long time, and one that'd best stay buried. Now, if you want to help Fox, if we are even going to be able to, we have to bring him in. If Cromwell's men find him first, then he's a dead man. Unfortunately, the council won't allow me to pursue him myself. The Fleet is being recalled to Cornaria while the CDF continues its operations, and any involvement in Fox's pursuit on my part would only make it look like I was aiding him. That's why I need all of you."

"Why are they recalling the Fleet?" Slippy asked.

"I can't say," Peppy said, "now, will you help me?"

Falco stood with his arms crossed, drumming his fingers on his bicep as he brooded over his options, "Don't suppose you'd let us outta here if I said no, huh gramps?"

"I'd have you shipped off somewhere secure and quiet until everything blew over," Peppy answered, honestly.

Falco blew out an angry breath and fired back, "Fine then, but you've got no guarantee that I won't decide not to bring him in when I find him, you know that!"

"Actually," a feminine voice said from beyond what Falco could see through the field, "He does."

Falco knew that voice. His skin crawled, and hot frothy anger boiled up from his gut and into this head.

"Peppy," Falco said, his tone a threat in and of itself, "if that's who I think it is…"

. . .

Krystal decided now was as good a time as any to make an appearance. Falco's anger was almost tangible as she stood with her back to the wall, just out of sight from everyone in the cell. One of the perks of being a telepath was she didn't need to look to know it was Falco, Katt and Slippy on the other side. Up to this point, she'd kept her mouth shut, on Peppy advice, otherwise Falco would have outright refused to help, but so far all they seemed to be doing was arguing anyway.

As she walked in front of the glowing field, Falco's anger focused on her, and he began to radiate with hostility. If he could, he'd probably shoot her right now.

_Bitch, _Falco thought, rather loudly as his eyes locked bitterly on her, _Fucking bitch!_

Krystal, despite what people often though of her abilities, could only sense surface thoughts, and strong emotions. She wasn't able to outright read someone's mind, or tear into their secrets unless they were coming strongly enough to the surface on their own. The more she concentrated on someone, the more effective she could be, but she still wasn't able to delve more than a layer or two, and the effects of that could be…uncomfortable for her. The mind was an incredibly complex thing, after all, and she could only blur the lines between 'self' and 'other' so far. Still, even without concentrating, Falco was practically assaulting her with anger. She took a little effort, and toned most of it out, something she'd learned to do when she was young. If she hadn't, being around people would just be overwhelming.

"What the fuck is _she_ doing here?" Falco barked.

"She's going to help you track down Fox," Peppy answered.

"Like hell she is!" Falco shot back, a wave of disgust pouring into his anger like fuel to the flame. For Krystal, being around Falco when he got like this was the mental equivalent of staring at the sun. There was a time when she'd actually appreciated how honest his emotions were, but now it just agitated her.

"Listen!" Peppy shouted, "I know this isn't an ideal pairing, but she's got a better chance of locating Fox than anyone. She can pick him out of a crowd if she gets close enough, and we can trust her more than we can the CDF."

Peppy _felt_ much less confident in that than he sounded.

"Gimme a blaster, and I'll show you how much I trust her right now," Falco growled.

It was a bluff. If someone handed him a gun at that moment the farthest he would go would be to try and frighten her with a near miss. She knew Falco was a hot head, but she also knew that he wasn't a cold blooded killer.

"Wha-Falco?" Slippy asked, emanating a sea of confusion, "What's the matter with you? I don't understand, did something happen between you two."

"Yeah, somethin' happened, all right," Falco answered without taking his eyes off of her, "It was back during the Anglar Blitz, it was me and Fox…and Wolf. We hit Titania after we got some information from Lucy about Andross's terraforming device, then, after we fight our asses off to get it, Wolf bolted with it! We tried to follow the bastard into the Z-nebula, but me and Fox got led into a fuckin' trap! As it turned out Pigma didn't stay dead last time, and he caught us with our pants down. He let Wolf right on through, and then tried to kill us with about a dozen sneak-shot torpedoes and a swarm of more fighters than I care to remember. He damn near had his way, too. Now, who's plan do you think it all turned out to be, huh Slip? Who's name do you think that piece of shit O'Donnel spat out before he tucked tail and ran?"

The memory was pretty strong, and Krystal caught flashes of it.

"I didn't know about Pigma," she said, defending herself coldly despite a slight feeling of guilt, "Wolf was just supposed to lose you in the nebula. That was all…"

She hadn't wanted Fox dead, or even hurt, that was the truth of it. She had just been angry, and she'd wanted to show him that Lylat wouldn't fall apart without him, tat he didn't always have to be the damn hero.

"Bullshit!" Falco spat, "You're nothin' but a two-timing traitor, and if you think I'm letting you anywhere near Fox-!"

"Falco, that's enough," Peppy said.

"I'll see you dead first!" Falco finished anyway. He meant it this time. For that moment at least, she knew he was really willing to kill her if it meant protecting his friend. Not a cold blooded killer, no, but if it were a crime of passion...did he really hate her that much?

"Falco," Katt said, her face a collected, unreadable mask, "if it means finding Fox, then maybe we should agree to work with her for now."

"What?" Falco barked, whirling on her, "Are you out of your mind? You know what she-"

"I know," Katt calmly answered. She glanced over at Krystal, but Katt was surprisingly difficult to get a feel on just then, "but it doesn't look like we have much choice. Just trust me, okay?"

Krystal was almost shocked at how quickly Falco's anger cooled off. He was still agitated, but much less so, at least.

"I don't like it," Falco said in a low tone, "I don't trust her, especially around Fox."

Katt nodded, "I know, thanks Falco."

He turned away from her and said, "You'd better know what you're doing," then tossed himself down on the nearby bench with his arms crossed and his eyes closed.

Krystal shook her head, turned to Peppy and said, "You know, you may be better off just sending me after Fox on my own."

The old hare didn't even look at her. He just said, "Krystal, I wouldn't send a trained Agent to chase down Fox alone. Besides, I don't know that I can completely trust you to bring Fox to _me_, just like I can't necessarily rely on Falco to bring him in at all. You say you want him brought in, and Falco wants him to be safe. Between the two of you, I have a better chance of getting what I need, so you either work together, or I have all of you locked away where you can't do any damage. Now, are we all agreed?"

There was a pause, then Slippy started by saying, "I'll help, if it means we're helping Fox…"

Katt looked over at Falco, who nodded, albeit grudgingly, and she said, "We're in, but we need some provisions."

Peppy nodded, reaching over and disarming the force field, "You'll be given everything you need. There are four arwings waiting for you in the shuttle hanger, registered as your property and purchased under your individual names. They're rigged so that I can keep track of all of you, so I know you're cooperating, and so I can track you down if you try anything particularly stupid."

He turned to Falco as he said the last bit, but Falco just kept his eyes shut and scowled.

"Now," he continued, "I can't stay much longer, or I'll be missed. You'll all be taken to your ships, given your supplies, and briefed on the overall task at hand. You'll also be given a list of contacts loyal to me and to the Fleet who will be able to get you around the CDF blockades and may even help you track down Fox. I don't have a lot of options here, so, Katt, I'm making you team leader. I'll be in contact when I can be, and I expect to be kept informed on your progress."

Krystal didn't resent Peppy's decision. Katt had experience leading small groups from her days in the resistance, back during the Lylat Civil War, and his other options were Falco, who was too wreckless, and Krystal, who Falco would never take orders from. Slippy didn't even warrant consideration. Katt was just the most logical choice, as things were.

With that, Peppy gave them all a glance, looking like he wanted to say more. He did, Krystal could feel it, but he said nothing. He just nodded, turned on his heel, and walked off.

"Hey, gramps," Falco called after him, making him pause, "I'll keep that promise for you. Nothing's gonna happen to Fox while I'm still kickin'. Now are you gonna wish us luck, or what?"

This seemed to warm Peppy a bit. The others couldn't see him smile, but he did say, "Good luck," and then, quietly, "Star Fox."

After that, he walked out the door at the end of the hall, and was gone.

Falco got to his feet, stretched, and started walking too. He passed Krystal like she wasn't even there, and continued down the hall. Slippy followed soon after, stopping as he came up to Krystal and, practically overflowing with apprehension, apparently decided not to say whatever it was he wanted to say, and walked on. Katt was still being difficult to read as she walked by, but she stopped just past Krystal to say, "Krys, we used to get along okay, but if you do anything to put Falco in that kind of danger again," she turned to look Krystal in the eye, and a brief, but powerful wave of hostility radiated from her, "I'll kill you myself."

Then the hostility vanished, Katt patted her on the shoulder, and walked off too. The door shut behind her, and then Krystal was alone.

She let her weight fall against the nearby wall, ran her fingers through her hair, and sighed. Honestly, she was a little angry with herself. She'd kept it from showing, but Falco had really gotten to her. The last time she'd seen him, they'd been friends, after all. For him to hate her that much...

What the hell was she even doing here? Nobody wanted her to be, except maybe Peppy, and she had no idea what she was planning to do when and if they actually found Fox. When Peppy had first contacted her, she was suspicious, and more than a bit apprehensive, but, Lord-knows-why, she'd gone anyway. Probably pissed Wolf off, and Panther…well, to be honest with herself, time was about up with them anyway. She'd been in StarWolf for a little over three years, and in all that time, not once had it felt the same. She never felt like she belonged there, Wolf just _tolerated_ her, Leon was vile and, honestly, a bit frightening, and Panther could just be so _smothering_ sometimes. It just wasn't…it wasn't the same as before, with F...with Star Fox.

She pushed off the wall and straightened herself up, brushed those thoughts away, and made for the door. For the moment, she had a job to do, and if she was going to have to put up with Falco, the last thing she wanted to do was appear weak in front of him. Fox was making one hell of mess lately, and someone had to put a stop to it all, right?

And, who knows, it had been a long time so maybe, once they'd captured him, just maybe she could talk some sense into him...


	24. Chapter 24

**A Familiar Place**

_ He was crying again._

_ It'd been a while since the last time he'd been here…a small room, wrapped in white curtains with a small, white bed._

_He sat on the floor, knees tucked to his chest as warm tears ran steadily down his face, soaking his cheeks and matting the fur beneath his eyes together. His breathing jittered and shook through his small, racking frame as he sat, trying to be still, but as hard as he tired, he couldn't stop himself from shaking. His head hung low from his shoulders while his stomach wrenched and twisted. The whole world felt like it was pressing down on top of him. He wanted to run, but he didn't know where. He felt lost, and helpless…_

_Even so, he refused make a sound, not one sound outside of his breathing. No matter how strongly it surged up, how badly it hurt to keep it in inside, he refused to cry out. He wouldn't allow himself to wail or scream. How could he? Those were sounds that little children made when they wanted someone to help them, helpless little children who let people die._

_He couldn't do that. _

_He felt sick. _

_This was all his fault._

_He reached out, slowly, hand shaking and eyes filled with fear and shame, for the pale, slender arm hanging so limply from the bedside by which he sat, and, for the last time, took her hand in his. It was cold… stiff, the hand that had always been so warm and gentle. He squeezed it, squeezed her hand like she had always squeezed his, and in a tiny, squeaking whisper, said, "I'm sorry…I'm sorry."_

_The light around him faded as he squeezed his eyes shut against the tears. He knew what came next, the thing that always came next. It started slowly, that uneasy, sinking feeling. When he opened his eyes again he really was sinking. Down and away, leaving the scene of his younger self, crouched at her bedside all alone. He gained speed as he went, and began to fall away into nothing. Just as he lost sight of it all in the rapidly increasing distance he heard the groan of a door, his father's voice, and finally, he heard himself cry out. _

_Then he was falling, faster and faster through nothing but black, his stomach lurching into his chest from the sensation. He would wake up soon. He always woke up after he fell…_

_But then he didn't. He kept on falling. He wasn't waking up._

_Something was wrong. He'd never fallen for this long before. His skin began to crawl, and his stomach churned in irrational fear as he continued downward, faster and faster by the second. All around him little lights blinked into existence until he found himself hurtling, not through his dream, but through the cold vacuum of space. All sense of direction failed him in one sickening instant, and in the back of his mind something screamed a warning. He felt as if he were headed toward something terrible, that he had to get away before it saw him, but there was nothing he could do, nothing he could grab or hold onto. He flew onward, utterly unable to control himself as fear quickly gave way to panic. It was going to see him! Whatever it was, if this kept up it would find him! Every instinct he had revolted against drawing any closer to that unknown thing. His mind threatened to tear itself apart for want of something, ANYTHING to get control-!_

A sudden, solid impact made Fox shoot stark upright into a sitting position, eyes darting everywhere at once, hand groping for a weapon that wasn't there as his fear-soaked brain desperately tried to gain its bearings, but there was nothing there to see but familiar bulkheads, and nothing caught his ears except the sound of his own rapid breathing.

The instant it dawned on him that he was awake and on solid ground relief flooded over him like a wave breaking across a soft beach. Every tensed muscle relaxed at once, and he fell back down. As he lay there he felt like he was going to melt into the floor, covering his eyes with his left arm to block out the dim light that was coming from his surroundings.

For a while he just stayed there, letting himself settle. When he felt a bit better, he let out a grunt and forced his eyes grudgingly open again to find that he was lying on the cold, metal deck of what appeared to be the rec. room by the large vid-screen bolted to the wall nearby. He felt disoriented as hell, almost numbed as he tried to get back up by propping his weight on his left arm. He'd landed flat on his back, right arm sprawled over to the couch he figured he had just fallen from. There was light, but it wasn't very bright and seemed to be coming from the emergency lights near the base of the bulkheads. Looking over to his left arm, he found it securely locked to the metal frame of the couch by a pair of omni-cuffs which were bonded to his wrist. The couch itself, like all of the furniture in this area of the ship, was bolted to the deck to keep it in place during rough flight. He just stared at his hand dumbly for a moment before it dawned on him that the cuffs binding it were in any way unusual, and he shook his head to try and clear the fog that seemed to have gotten a hold of him.

"Fox! You're awake!" Orian popped into his head.

The second he heard Orian's voice, a strong tingling sensation swept through Fox's skull, and several unclear images began to appear in front of his eyes. He tried to squeeze them shut, but that didn't help. He could still see it all, like it was being projected onto the back of his eyeballs.

"What are you doing?" Fox growled, trying to find a way to resist whatever was happening, "What is this?"

"What?" Orain said, sounding oblivious, "What are you…Oh! I'm sorry, it's the bleed-through. Here let me correct it."

In an instant, the images became crystal clear, imposed on his field of vision like a heads-up-display on a cockpit. A transparent outline of his own anatomy occupied the bottom right corner with visual representations of his heart beat, brain activity, and a number of other vitals while their numerical equivalents were displayed above it. Anything his eyes focused on was outlined, highlighted briefly. It was all perfectly clear now, despite some of the images positions on what would normally be within his blurred peripheral eyesight. There was no need to look directly at any of it to make it out, and even when he tried those images moved so as to stay in the periphery.

"Why…?" Fox started, rubbing at his temples with his free hand, "Why they hell are you showing me all this?"

"I'm not," was Orian's apologetic reply, "this is all just information that your implants monitor regularly. I'm not sure why you're seeing it now. One more moment, please."

It all faded quickly, and then was gone, clearing Fox's vision entirely.

"That stuff wasn't there a second ago. Not until you started talking."

"Really?" the A.I. mused, "That's odd. I'll make a note of it along with the other irregularities, though, honestly, it's the least of our worries right now. Fox, we need to talk before that woman comes back."

Fox frowned.

"Woman?" he asked, trying to think, "What woman? What are you talking about?"

"The… the bounty hunter?" Orian answered, pausing for just a moment before saying, "She's been checking on you regularly. What's the last thing you remember?"

Fox squinted his eyes as he thought back to before he fell off the couch. He'd been having some kind of dream, but he couldn't seem to remember any of it. Whatever it was, it had slipped back into his subconscious, but that didn't matter. Before that was…

"I remember the bounty hunters," he said, fighting to think through the fog, "but I got away from them. I stole a levibike, Rob brought the Great Fox in low…and then we…we…"

He trailed off, sitting quietly as he remembered what came next. He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again.

"Rob's dead now, isn't he?" he more stated, with a somber kind of certainty, than asked, "The bridge got hit, and he…"

"He saved your life," Orian finished for him, a touch of sympathy in his tone, "I understand that he was important to you, and I'msorry to press you, but do you remember anything else?"

"No," he answered in a word. After the bridge was destroyed, he vaguely remembered walking down a passageway, and that was all. Everything after that started when he hit the ground a minute ago.

"Well," the A.I. started, tentatively, "I know you probably don't want to hear this right now, Fox, but we need to talk about the anima in your body. You remember what I told you before, don't you?"

It took a second to remember, but when he did he said, "Yeah, it's what you used to patch me up on Titania, synthetic tissue you grafted to my guts, right?"

"Yes, though I think I should elaborate at this point."

"Why?" Fox asked, "What didn't you tell me before?"

"I just need to explain a few things so that you can understand the situation we're in right now," Orian said, "please just bear with me."

"Fine," Fox answered, rolling back up onto the couch to which he was cuffed. He left one leg dangling over the side and covered his eyes with his free arm again as he lay there before saying, "What is it?"

"I guess I should just go ahead and start by saying there has been an… unexpected adaptation in the anima I previously injected you with before. You see the-"

"You mean it mutated," Fox said, blandly, "I remember you mentioning something about that."

"No, not necessarily," Orian said, with a little less certainty than Fox would've liked, "or, well, I suppose it may have, but it's not like any of the documented mutations in my data. 'Mutations' are typically harmful or random, sometimes cancer-like, while this adaptation seemed...purposeful, intentional, or…almost _designed_, really."

"What do you mean?" Fox pressed, "What happened?"

"First, let me explain a few things. Anima is _not_ living tissue. It's a synthetic, cellular tissue, the nucleus of which, while microscopic, is mechanical, much like the nanites used to apply it and your cerebral implants on which I now live. Its basic state is a viscous, blue liquid which is, in medical applications, injected into a subject along with medical nanites. The nanites take DNA samples from the target tissue and transmit it to the anima cells which are bonded to the subject. The cells then adapt to simulate the target tissue or material accordingly, and you get a patch. The material surrounding the bio-mechanical nucleus is highly adaptive, and is able to meet or, more often than not, exceed the functionality of the original material, but there is a down side."

"Was wondering when you were going to get to that," Fox growled, "What is it?"

"Well, as I said, it's not really living tissue. It's just playing copycat," Orian said, speaking a bit faster as he seemed to start puzzling over something, "Anima cannot reproduce itself like living cells can. Life forms, while possessing the key elemental ingredients within their bodies required for anima production, are incapable of properly synthesizing them into the necessary compounds, and even if they were, anima cells are incapable of cell-division, being that the bio-mechanical nucleus cannot replicate itself like that of a conventional living cell. At its base, it's still a machine, you see.

"On top of all of this, despite how versatile anima can be, a certain real-cell-to-anima-cell ratio has to be maintained within any subject, organ, or even tissue sample. Once bonded, the anima cells periodically check their DNA information against that of a neighboring, bonded real cell. If there isn't one directly bonded to the anima cell, it gets the data second-hand from another anima cell which is either directly bonded to a real cell, or at least closer to one than itself. In this way, the anima adapts to any changes due to age, exercise, diet, and so on. The problem with mutation usually arises when anima does not have enough real material to reference. Cells too distant from real cells begin to develop larger and larger margins of error and eventually may attempt to simply fill in the blanks with old data or worse. Eventually, lacking enough data, this practice may produce anomalies in the anima cell's DNA data, which they will act on accordingly.

"Documented cases of resulting mutations varied from case-to-case. Mutations were rare, but most often occurred in soldiers who were 'modified' with anima to increase their performance. Over the years, as they took serious wounds and had to use more anima to patch themselves, their already high ratios would begin to exceed the safe limits. In some cases anima would harden, forming 'shingles' or 'barbs' on soft organs and tissues such as muscles and cartilage and inflicting severe pain and disability. Other times it would develop cancerously due to erroneous cell data, but the worst was a result of cells receiving so little data that they revert to their basic state. They liquefy. Externally, this can actually be seen as what at first appears to be a blue 'sweat' on anima-heavy areas of the skin. Internally, it may be similar to internal bleeding or necrosis. As the anima liquefies, it breaks away from the tissue it's bonded to. This usually occurs in a domino effect, and before the subject can be properly treated, their body goes into shock, and they die."

A bit of the blood had drained away from Fox's face at this point, and he found that he was sitting up on the couch as he imagined why Orian would be explaining this. After a second of silence, he asked, "Is that what's happening to me?"

"What? Oh! No-no, err, no you're anima-percentages are all well below dangerous levels," Orian was quick to answer.

Fox almost fell forward, letting out a relieved breath before saying, "Fuck! Then what the hell are you scaring me like that for?"

"Ah…sorry Fox," the A.I. said, guiltily, "I may have gone into more detail than I needed to. I just find organics rather interesting, and being a synthetic being myself, anima, which is essentially the closest a machine has ever come to actual life, is interesting to me, particularly the way machine and life can be blended. Bio-machines, as it were."

That rang a strong bell in Fox's head, memories of Andross and his sick experiments. "Yeah, fascinating," He said in a low tone, "but if I'm not in any danger from these mutations, then why are you telling me all this?"

"Right, of course, back to the issue," Orian continued, "You remember I told you that the medical nanites which had reactivated themselves would not be able to spread any additional anima?"

"Yeah, you said more anima would have to be injected for them to apply. Otherwise they would just circulate doing nothing, right?"

"Yes and no," Orian riddled, "While active, they aren't doing _nothing_. They still obey their programming, which is to locate, asses, and repair damaged tissue within the subject's body. They communicate with your implants to determine the source of pain and navigate your body until they arrive and assess the damage. They then report back to, normally, the medical technician's console and await orders. In your case, however, they reactivated erroneously and began communicating directly with your implants. Normally, this would be pointless, the implants act as nothing more than an extension of your brain, and you could no better control the nanites than you could your own heartbeat. Even still…I now realize that they found something there, something I've spent the last several hours trying to locate and identify for myself…

"Fox, I'm unsure at this point, but I believe there may have been some kind of encoded programming hidden in the marker signal we came in contact with when you touched that man, Warren. The nanite's initial reaction to the signal was their counter-programmed reactivation. After that, they did not exhibit any additional unusual behavior other than their reporting to your implants, but earlier, when you were injured, they did something that shouldn't have been possible."

When he didn't continue right away, Fox said, "Keep talking, Orian."

"They…_removed_ samples of anima from your previously damaged organs. They aren't programmed to do that. It's paramount to re-opening a wound, directly defying their primary directive. Your earlier internal bleeding was more a result of that than your punctured lung. After that, they reverted the anima to its base state and reapplied it to the exposed marrow of you broken ribs. From the data sent back to your implants, I determined that the nanites only applied their salvaged anima to the blood-producing red marrow within your body, but they…they somehow _altered_ the DNA sequencing information. The resulting anima cells formed tiny micro-organs which, rather than producing blood cells, they began producing additional anima."

"What?" Fox barked, "You just said that was impossible!"

Orian just kept talking, despite his outburst, "I told you, all of the necessary elements are there. These organelles were simply able to synthesize them. The more alarming thing was the fact that each anima cell was being produced with a fully functional nucleus. Let me show you."

An image of what seemed to be a large, blue animal cell appeared in front of Fox. There were no organelles inside of it, just a distinctly mechanical, perfectly round nucleus. From the nucleus extended what looked like long, thin, wire-like protrusions reaching a short ways out into the surrounding blue cytoplasm and bending and turning at hard angles to almost resemble circuitry.

"This," Orian explained, "is a normal anima cell in base form."

Suddenly, another cell appeared beside it. They looked similar. Blue cytoplasm bubbles lacking any distinct characteristics. The stark difference was the nucleus. At the center of the new cell was a sphere-like figure formed from a series of hexagonal faces connected at their edges. It looked far more organic than the perfectly sphere shaped nucleus of the first cell, but was still had a certain mechanical appearance. The protrusions extending from it still bent at hard angles like the first, but they seemed to almost do so in a sort of pattern. They never seemed to come in contact with one another, though, so the pattern was hard to make out.

"This," Orian continued, "is one of the anima cells produced in your body. I've never seen anything like it. The micro-mechanical nucleus of an anima cell can only be produced with high-precision machinery, usually in batches of several billion per day with a large enough production facility, but it is impossible for them to be produced by any biological processes. What these new anima cells are using is…organic, more easily produced, yet they seem to perform identically to the original. This technology is advanced, even for me..."

Fox just stared at the two cells, and said, "So, my body is making these things now? Why? What for?"

"To heal you," Orian answered, "After they established the anima-producing tissue in the exposed marrow of your broken ribs, the next thing the nanites did was to take the newly produced anima and repaired the damage to the areas they had originally removed anima from, mostly non-critical organs. Then they applied additional anima cells throughout over ninety percent of your body's red marrow, though at a very low real-to-anima ratio. Your body produced enough anima to repair all of the damage you'd sustained, then, abruptly, all of the marrow-based anima cells stopped production, for now at least. The materials used to produce this anima was taken from your body's nutrient stores, which is why I imagine you've been feeling weak or distracted since you woke up. You should probably eat soon. Anyway, because this reaction seemed, while unprecedented, more or less designed, and because the amount of anima in your body is well within safe levels, I don't believe it to simply be a mutation. Regardless, Fox, your body now has more anima than before. Worse, it can produce more, and I believe it will, should you suffer any serious injury…"

"And if they do," Fox continued in his place, "then my body's anima percentage will start increasing."

"Possibly until you reach dangerous levels," Orian finished, "that was my conclusion as well. I'm sorry, Fox. None of this should be possible. I've been trying to uncover whatever data we may have received from our contact with the marker signal, but it's elusive. If it exists at all, then it must be so seamlessly imbedded into your implants' data that it's indiscernible-"

"Orian," Fox interrupted, "I need to know how much anima I have in me right now."

"Just over seven percent," Orian somberly stated, the displayed cell images fading away.

"And at what point do mutations usually start?"

"It can vary from subject to subject, normally based on body mass, but once a body reaches levels over thirty percent the risk of abnormalities becomes significant. Serious mutation typically occurs at or around forty-to- fifty percent," there was a pause before he said, "no known subject has ever survived levels higher than seventy."

Fox took a moment to soak it all in, sitting on the couch and staring at his feet. He didn't sit long before his stomach harshly reminded him of something Orian had just said. It growled at him with a fierceness that made him clutch at it with a hand and wince. His eyes went to the nearby kitchen area, then his cuffed left wrist, and he sighed.

"So," Orian piped up, "what's our next move?"

"Next move, huh?" Fox said, pulling against the cuffs to test both them and the strength of the couch's metal framework, "Well, I need to figure out how bad the damage to the Great Fox is and if she can still warp. If not, then we'll need to abandon her. After that I want to try and get my hands on whatever it was that I helped steal from that convoy. The whole damn system seems to be out for blood over that thing, but, more to the point, you said that that signal it's putting off is the same kind of tech as, well, you, right?"

"Yes, that's right," Orian said, "but are you sure pursuing its wise? I admit that I'm a bit curious to examine it myself, but we only came into contact with the marker signal second hand before, and it had very dangerous effects. I'm not sure what would happen in the event of direct contact. There are still a large number of names on that roster that we could look into, perhaps find other leads?"

"Too many," Fox said, "There are too many names, and I don't know where to start looking for any of them. Besides, those names waited over twenty years to be found, they can wait a little longer. Meanwhile, I know where that damn thing, whatever it was that I helped Viccini steal, is probably being kept, and it's only a matter of time before it's made to disappear again."

Despite still feeling a bit dizzy, he was thinking pretty clearly now, probably because Orian had done a good job of scaring some adrenaline into his system before.

"I remember you said something before about this 'marker signal', that it's supposed to help trace whatever's emitting it back to wherever it was taken from, am I wrong?" he asked.

"No, I remember mentioning it before," Orian answered, "Certain critical devices, when removed from their ship or station, emit marker signals so that they can be found. Data imbedded in the signal can then be used to trace and locate the device's origin."

"Right," Fox continued, "so, this thing was something removed from either a ship or some kind of installation with the same technology as you and your crash site. If we get it, maybe you could follow that signal back to the device's source."

"That logic is sound enough, but I don't see why you would want-"

"You said that that list, that roster with my father's name on it was transmitted from someplace other than your downed ship, and that it was meant to grant broad access to everyone on it, so there has to either be a station or another ship like yours somewhere out there that my father, Andross, and all those other people were given access to. Otherwise, what's the point? Now, if my father, a military man back then, and Cornaria's best scientific mind were assigned to a project, then it's obvious that Cornaria was behind whatever this project was supposed to be."

Fox leaned forward, rubbing at his temples before saying, "Now put it all together. The place the roster was transmitted from had to have shared your technology. The thing we stole emits a marker signal, which means it's also shares your technology, and that it was taken from a ship or major installation of yours, or…whoever made you. Cornaria was probably behind the roster _and_ they were in possession of whatever it is that's emitting that signal, which makes me think that that thing was taken from the same place that my father was given access to."

"So," Orian said, "if we get our hands on the signal…"

"Then we can follow it back to its source," Fox said, with finality, "wherever that is, there has to be clues about what my father was involved in. Hell, it might _be_ what my father was involved in. If that thing can lead us there, then I need to secure it. After that, we can hunt down names and try to figure out where exactly we're going so we're not just jumping in blind…be a hell of a lot easier if Rob-"

"Who are you talking to?" a feminine voice came from behind him.

Fox's mouth snapped shut so fast you could hear the teeth click. He turned without saying another word and looked back at the voice's source. He recognized her, or recognized her suit anyway. He eyed her coldly as she walked in by way of the door on the far side of the room. How long had she been there?

"Sig," she said, addressing someone Fox couldn't see, "run another sweep. I want to make sure it's just me and mister McCloud onboard this ship."

"Yes ma'am, at once," a curt, military voice came over the Great Fox's internal com. system.

She maintained her distance while she waited for a response, one hand loosely resting on the hilt of a stun weapon, sheathed at her waist. On the hip opposite of the stunner was a holstered blaster, a long barreled pistol, almost like the kind you'd expect to see at a target-shooting competition but with a considerably higher yield by the look of it. It made Fox wonder why she didn't just opt for a rifle if she was looking for better range and accuracy than a standard pistol.

After a short time, the voice came back, saying, "No other life signs are aboard the Great Fox, nor was I able to detect any synthetics present."

"What about communications signals? Could McCloud have been transmitting any sort of message?" she asked.

"No ma'am," the voice said, "this vessel's long range communications systems are down. No signals of any kind have been detected since exiting warp, including this vessel's own tracking beacon. If the target was speaking to someone, then they would have to be nearby."

The bounty hunter fixed her helmeted gaze on Fox again, saying, "Alright, then I'll ask again. To whom where you just speaking?"

Fox turned his back to her again and slumped forward, propping his head up on the fist of his cuffed arm as he said, "The voices in my head. Don't worry, they're not saying much that would interest a high class lady like yourself."

The woman hummed, amusedly.

"Well, I suppose I should take it as a sign of good health that you able to speak at all," she answered, coming closer by the sounds of her footfalls. She rounded the couch and, by the movement of her helmet, eyed Fox up and down.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, unexpectedly, "You don't look like you're going to die anymore, which is better than when I brought you here."

He wasn't sure how to answer at first. It was possible she was playing head games, but he decided to play along for the time being. Before anything clever came to mind, though, his stomach growled, and the hunger pains made him blanch.

His captor just sighed and asked, "When was the last time you had anything to eat?"

_Back on Bayoon, not that long ago,_ Fox thought. Still she didn't know that, and it felt like it had been days.

"Ya know," Fox said with a flat, humorless expression, "I was just about to whip something up in the kitchen, but then, damnedest thing, my friend went and died on the bridge, so I got a little distracted. Tell you what, how about you uncuff me? I'll go throw something together, we can sit down, and I can tell you to fuck off over dinner."

She paused a moment, then said, "For what it's worth, I _am_ sorry about your friend."

She dropped herself down on the couch opposite from Fox, clearly unafraid of anything he was capable of doing at the moment.

"But, you know…" she started, hesitating a bit before continuing with, "You can't really expect to keep all of this up, can you? Even if you manage to get out of this predicament, what then? What are you even doing all of this for? You're-"

"Do I know you?" Fox interrupted, agitated by how familiar this woman was trying to be.

She seemed to think for a second before answering, "No. No I doubt you'd remember."

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Was he _supposed _to know this woman from somewhere? His list of jilted lovers was a bit too short to include any bio-suited, bounty hunting members of the aristocracy.

"Look lady," he said, tired of the exchange, "I'm not sure what your angle is, but if you're figuring my bounty's going to be higher 'goods-undamaged,' then great, check my temperature, get me something to eat, and take me to your ship. But stop trying to act like I'm anything other than a bounty. Playing nice isn't going to make me more cooperative."

In response, she gave a small, ladylike sigh, crossed her legs and said, "Money, Mr. McCloud, is not an object for me-"

"So I'm sport then?" he fired back, crossly.

"-and you fever broke hours ago," she said, ignoring him, "I understand if you blame me what happened to your friend, but you're as much to blame for that as I am, if you want my opinion, and as for food, you can eat after I ask a few questions. Depending on how you answer, we may be able to help each other. Now…"

She paused, reaching back to grab the base of her helmet. There was a hiss, the biotic material around her neck loosened from its skin-tight hold to a more lose fit, and then the helmet came off. It caught Fox a little off guard, and he found himself staring into deep blue eyes.

"You've got to be kidding me," he growled, looking away, "You're just a damn kid…"


	25. Chapter 25

"**Just a Damn Kid"**

She just chuckled to herself. "Nineteen, actually," she said, cheerily, "no more a child than you are an old man."

"Cute," Fox grumbled back, apparently unamused.

Of course, she understood perfectly why he saw her this way. She _was_ young, by nearly anyone's standards, though she had hoped for something of a different reaction.

She cocked her head to the side and asked, "Does it bother you that I'm young? I don't see why it should, what with you having been all of eighteen when you became a mercenary. Or am I wrong?"

"Sixteen," McCloud grudgingly corrected. The comparison clearly made him uncomfortable. She also noticed he wasn't making eye contact, but she believed she understood why. She was aware that men found her attractive, and they usually either openly stared or tried very hard not to. Funny, though, she hadn't thought Fox to be the bashful type.

"Ah, yes, sixteen then – my mistake," she teased, moving her bangs away from her eyes. That helmet always disheveled them, which was why she kept most of her hair in a short braid when she wore it. Still, there was no helping the bangs. They always managed to work their way into her eyes in little silver strands. Not enough to block her vision or anything, but still, annoying. "Now, let's start with my questions, hm? First..."

She stopped herself short as a thought occurred which made her laugh. She jumped up onto her feet from her sitting position on the couch, and brought herself squarely in front of McCloud, undoing her hair so that it fell down to her shoulders in soft white waves.

"Where are my manners? I completely forgot to introduce myself! Bloody difficult before, what with all the excitement," she said, apologetically, taking a moment to straighten herself up. She gently cleared her throat, covering her mouth with a hand as she did of course, and said, "My name is Fay," she paused to see if there would be any reaction to the name. He squinted for a moment, as if trying to recall something, but when he made no further reaction she continued, saying, "No need to introduce yourself, of course. I know all about my targets. Fox McCloud, only child of James McCloud and Vixy Reinard-"

She only saw it for an instant, but the flash of sadness that went through his eyes as she said those names made her pause.

"I'm…so sorry - Incredibly boorish of me. I wasn't aware you still-"

"You said you had questions," he flatly interrupted. He wasn't being rude, but obviously wanted to change the subject.

"Yes, well, on to that then," she said, feeling more than a bit foolish for bringing up Fox's parents. She should have known it would be a touchy subject, from what her uncle had told her. She took a moment to collect her thoughts before voicing her first and most pressing question.

"How is it you've healed so quickly?" she asked. Not five hours ago, he'd had a serious burn, broken ribs, and had been coughing up blood…among other, stranger liquids. Now there wasn't a scratch on him, and she could tell he wasn't in any sort of pain by the way he moved. People don't just get better that fast. Add that together with his savage behavior earlier, and something seemed very unnerving about the whole thing. "I didn't have a chance to see to you right away. Sig barely managed to get control of your ship's navigation systems in time to bring her out of warp in one piece, and afterward your ship's medical facilities were exposed to vacuum, along with several other areas."

"How bad is the damage?" Fox asked.

"Answer my question first," she said, "I'll have Sig give you a complete diagnostic once I've determined whether or not I can trust you at the moment. Now, how did you recover so quickly?"

He stared at her for a long moment, likely trying to think of a reasonable lie, before giving a resigned sigh and saying, "Look, lady-"

"Fay," she patiently corrected.

Fox raised an eyebrow, but continued with, "Look, _Fay_, but you wouldn't believe me if I told you, and frankly, I'd rather not try to explain something I'm not sure I understand myself."

"Well, that's rather cryptic," she said when he didn't go on, "but I suppose I can't force you to tell me. Sig has offered a few possible, if somewhat disturbing, explanations. One of which being biological 'enhancement'. He said they usually crop up in rare cases among pirates and other criminals. Apparently some of Andross's old scientists are making a living peddling bio-engineering services to those that can afford it."

Sig's voice came back over the com, "But, as I said ma'am, CDF records indicate that the few documented cases of bio-enhancement all produced some sort of visible, physical changes in appearance. McCloud shows no signs of this."

She watched Fox's face for any reaction, but he wasn't giving anything away. She shrugged and said, "I suppose it will just have to stay a mystery for now. Perhaps another question, then?"

"Shoot," Fox answered, obviously unenthused as he propped his head up on his free arm, hand loosely balled into a fist as his jaw rested on it. At least he was starting to cooperate.

"Who were you speaking to earlier?" she asked, for the second time, actually, "And please, a straight answer this time."

His face soured as he seemed to mull over whether or not to answer, but before he could say anything, his stomach growled loudly, and his face went blank and seemed to pale a bit. His eyes drooped until they were barely open, and she noticed for the first time that his cheeks seemed to be somewhat sunken. Had they been that way before?

"Alright," she resigned with a shrug, "I suppose we can continue in a moment."

She walked over to the kitchenette area of the room where she found a small refrigerator, which, upon closer inspection, was completely empty save two unsecured but remarkably intact bottles of beer. There were also several hermetically sealed food-storage compartments which looked to her like fancy cabinets. One after another, she opened them to find that they were all empty, save the second-to-last compartment she tried. In it were three unopened bowls of 'Deluxe Instant Noodles!' and two rather thick looking bars wrapped in flat green, unimpressive packages which said in blocky, plain, likely government print 'MEAL BAR'.

She selected the meal bar, tossing it across the room to Fox, who snatched it out of the air with his free hand. In an instant, he'd torn it open with his teeth, revealing an unappetizing, dense-looking brown bar which he proceeded to attack voraciously. He tore and chewed almost mechanically, and before even swallowing one bite, he was already tearing off another until the entire thing was gone, and he was flicking away the spent wrapper.

He leaned his head back and let out a satisfied sigh, then looked over at her as she walked back with what could almost be mistaken for gratitude, but that, like any other emotion he seemed to display, quickly went away.

"Thought I remembered a beer or two in the fridge…" he said, before she'd gotten too far from the kitchenette.

"Good memory," she answered, "maybe you can get up and get one if you answer my last question."

He smiled at that, which honestly surprised Fay. He'd been so uncooperative up until this point, now he was smiling? She supposed there must have been some truth to that old saying about men and their stomachs. Still, she didn't expect a straight answer.

A distracted look flashed across his features. His eyes shifted down and left and his head tilted ever so slightly, almost as if he were listening to something. Could he be wearing some sort of concealed communication device? No. Sig said he wasn't detecting any communication signals, though she supposed there were devices designed specifically not to be detected. Still, looking him over, she couldn't see anything on or around his ears. Wasn't exactly hard to see, what with Fox being Vulpan and all. She'd always thought they had to most handsome ears. Very dashing and stern, nothing like her own. Not that she didn't like her own ears. They were mostly hidden in her hair, but they were floppy, like her uncle's, but a bit shorter, more like her mother's were in the pictures, and honestly quite charming when she did her hair right.

"Alright," Fox said, bringing her attention back to where it probably should have been a moment ago, "Fay, was it?" Something about the way he asked that seemed almost sly, and for just a moment he seemed to scan her features for something, but he didn't seem to find whatever he was looking for. He just gave a short grunt and said, "I managed to download the ship A.I. onto my personal systems so he could walk me through bringing this bucket out of warp manually, but I never made it that far. He and my navigations robot helped me manage this ship, wouldn't be possible on my own. He was mostly filling me in on what happened since I blacked out a little bit after the bridge got hit, then you walked in. Good enough?"

She had been watching his face while he spoke for any signs of him lying, but if he was, then he was good at it. She couldn't tell either way.

"Sig," she said, "what does the ship's records say about an A.I.?" she asked aloud.

"This vessel was equipped with marginally sophisticated A.I. software which assisted in navigations and maintenance, among other supportive functions, but logs indicate the A.I. showed signs of error after the bridge was destroyed, and functionality became extremely limited after successive damage to the ship's systems during our deceleration from warp. I have overwritten what remained of said A.I. after my successful integration with the Great Fox's computational and navigation matrix."

"Were there any logs of Fox downloading the A.I. to his wrist unit, or any other medium?" she asked.

"No ma'am," her own A.I. answered, curtly, "but a great deal of this ship's logs were deleted once my infiltration had to become more open. This was once a military vessel, and it seems certain information within its mainframe is programmed for automatic deletion in the event of a large enough security breach. I was not fast enough to prevent the deletion, ma'am, my apologies."

"Understood," she answered. They'd had to be more aggressive when hacking the navigation matrix than before due to the urgency and the overall lack of time. "Oh well, I suppose I can believe you for now, Mr. McCloud, though I don't suppose this A.I. of yours has any information on how to boost this vessel's short range communications, does it?"

It was a pointed question. She hadn't filled Fox in on the extent of the damage to his ship, but if he couldn't answer the question, then it went a ways in poking a hole in his story.

He raised an eyebrow and said, "So the long range coms are down to? Makes sense, what with the warp drives ruined. Sub warp engines are dead too, by the sound of it, which means primary power is gone with it. Normally we'd have the distress beacon, but that was tied into the ship's I.D. transmitter and I can tell you that hasn't worked in a little over a year," he scratched at his head as he finished with a tired, "lot of budget cuts, lately. Basically, no, we can't boost the short-coms. Why? What happened to your ship?"

"Nothing happened to it, per say" she said, "it should be holding orbit around Bayoon as we speak, but without long range communications I can't send for it. Still, it certainly sounds like you know your own vessel, Mr. McCloud."

He shrugged.

"Spent more time adrift than on the ground," he said, nonchalantly, "I know what a working ship should sound like, but if you think that's impressive, you should've seen Slippy back in the day."

He was smiling as he thought of his friend.

"Slippy Toad, part mechanic, part engineer, and every bit his father's son," she said, as-a-matter-of-factly. When Fox's look turned inquisitive, she continued with a somewhat hasty, "I dug up information on all of your former team mates – in case they could prove useful in tracking you down."

In point of fact, when she was younger she dug up information about Star Fox the same way most people her age would dig up information about a favorite music band, or actor, or sports team. They had their idols, and she had hers. Still, she couldn't tell him that without seeming silly…or very, very strange.

"Well, we seem to be making good progress!" she said, happily, "You have my word as a lady that if you answer my next question to my satisfaction, then I will uncuff you. Though, I do warn you that the suit I'm wearing is-"

"Biotic exo-suit," Fox answered for her, "don't seem them much outside of special forces and the like, though they usually have the sense to conceal them under less conspicuous clothing. Makes them less of a target. The stuff's not cheap, especially for someone outside the military."

She couldn't help but smile. He really was impressive.

"How do you know so much about these things?" She asked, curious, "Not very many people even know they exist."

"...Is that it?" he asked, sarcastically, "I can answer that and you'll undo the cuffs?"

"No, but I'd like to know anyway," she answered, with mock sweetness.

Fox blew out a breath and said, "Well, Slippy's father was one of the guys who reverse engineered the technology from Andross's bio-weapons. He offered to float us a couple of the earlier models, for me and Falco. All we had to do was sign this nondisclosure agreement and a contract that said we were essentially guinea pigs for the project, and the suits were ours. We could even trade them in for newer models as the technology improved, but Falco wasn't comfortable wearing what he saw as Andross's personally tailored bio-skin, and, to be honest, neither was I."

That made her laugh.

"Never thought of it that way," she said, smiling, "Pity though. Bloody comfortable stuff, like Katineese silk, _and_ it helped me school the great Fox McCloud one-on-one."

Fox blinked a few times, looking more than a bit confused as he said, "What?"

Fay raised her eyebrows innocently. "You mean you don't remember our scuffle in the passageway earlier? Or are you ashamed that you were beaten by a, oh how did you put it…a 'damn kid'?"

"Well, no, I've seen those suits in action. If we fought, then I don't think I would have put up much of a fight," he said, with a slightly disapproving look on his face, "Not the sort of mistake I'd make, though."

After a second, he did that thing where he seemed to be listening to someone, his frown deepened, then his expression returned to normal.

"I wouldn't say you didn't put up a fight," she said, placing a hand on her stun weapon, "honestly, all I know is fencing. If it hadn't been for the suit, I would have been in trouble. Still, you did seem a bit…off. Like the lights were on, but there was no one home."

"So," Fox said, clearing his throat and glancing at his cuffed wrist, "what's the last question, and while we're getting all friendly, how about you explain what you meant earlier by 'help each other'."

"Feeling more cooperative?" she asked.

"My ship is dead, and yours isn't coming. I understand we'd both be better off trying to get out of this mess together, and you have me at a complete disadvantage," Fox responded, wistfully, "the fact that you're even offering to help isn't something I can just shrug off, and besides, you fed me."

He put on a perfectly charming grin as he said the last bit.

"Right then," Fay said, pleased with, if a little mistrusting of the new direction the conversation was taking, "But I'm still not uncuffing you until you explain just what, in God's name, you're doing. Attacking government convoys? Running from the CDF? We both saw what happened in Sargasso, so what is it? What could possibly be worth causing this much of a commotion?"

Fox took a long breath, and let it out in a tired grunt. He looked down at the ground in front of him, and his eyes became distant.

"No easy answer," he said, sounding as tired as he looked. Or was it that he was tired? It could be something else, but Fay couldn't quite tell, "Hard times. Lot of things gone wrong. No money, ship was starting to fall apart, easy job came along offering good money and I didn't ask a lot of questions. Probably should have, but I didn't."

She stood there expecting more, but when it didn't come she said, "Is that it? It was just a job then?"

For a moment her stomach sank as disappointment began to build up. Could that really be all this was about? A bad job gone worse? No, something wasn't right. He wasn't telling her everything, she could see it in his eyes. She had always had a knack for reading people.

"That can't be all," she said, resolutely, "What aren't you telling me, Mr. McCloud?"

Anger darted across his face before it returned to an even mask, though his eyes still burned with his previous hostility as he said, "It doesn't matter. You said you might be willing to help me, but I don't think you really know what that could mean."

He was looking right at her now, and he wasn't doing as well at hiding his emotions as he had been thus far. He was angry, almost snarling, and she got the feeling it wasn't about what she said.

"The man who hired me?" He continued, tossing his angry glare back to the floor, "He tried to have me killed. No lose ends that way. Then he went and leaked my involvement with the convoy to LNS, so now the whole goddamn system is trying to either bring me in, or kill me. They're sending Agents after me now, do you know what that means? That means this isn't something they're going to let me walk away from. Agents don't play nice, and they don't take captives, not for long anyway. They drug you, drag you to someplace quite to_ extract_ information, then they leave what's left of you drifting in the vacuum. Space is a big place sweetheart. It isn't hard to make someone disappear in all that black."

"It sounds as though you've had personal experience…" she said after a short, quiet moment.

"General Pepper used to talk about them," he said. That wasn't what Fay had meant, but still…

"MacDane," she said, sitting down across from him on the far end of the couch with her hands folded neatly in her lap.

He looked over at her with a raised eyebrow.

She gave a weak laugh and said, "I know he has everyone call him Pepper, but that's his first name. His surname is MacDane, so technically that was the name he held the office as. He never liked all the pomp, you see, so most people just got used to calling him Pepper. Of course, the other blue bloods didn't much care for that, but then he never much cared for them, so…"

"Yeah," Fox said, staring at her intently, "I know all that but…how is it you seem to know him so well?"

She looked back at him and gave a resigned smile.

"You still don't remember me?" she asked, "I suppose I was pretty young back then…"

Fox's eyes widened as something seemed to strike him. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing at his temples.

"Fay," he said, as if the name were the obvious answer to some sort of riddle, "Fay MacDane. You're Pepper's niece."

"Bingo!" she said, with false enthusiasm, reaching over to enter the code on the small pad of the omni-cuffs. They beeped rapidly, then unbonded from Fox's wrist as she said, "True to my word. You know, I thought you'd recognize me as soon as I took off the helmet, but I guess that was a bit silly."

Fox suddenly sprawled back against the couch, rubbing the base of his neck with his newly freed hand.

"What the hell?" he started, looking like he'd been taken completely by surprise, "What are you-? Last time I saw you, you were, what, seven? Eight?"

"Eight," she said, feeling a little embarrassed. She'd seen him a few times after that, when he occasionally came by to talk to her uncle.

"Yeah, you were barely higher than my waist," he said, shaking his head, "and didn't you used to wear a bow in your hair?"

Her face burned as she blushed deeply. She still wore it sometimes, but she couldn't believe he'd remember something like that.

"A big red one…" Fox said, staring off into space as if he were picturing her eight year old self right then and there. He shook it off and shot her a serious, somewhat frustrated look, "Fay, what the hell are you doing here?"

"You know," she said with an uneasy chuckle, "I'm, um, not so sure myself?"

Fox sighed, getting to his feet and walking over to the little fridge. He opened it, reached in, and pulled out one of the beers.

"One for me as well," Fay said, still a little warm in the face.

Fox raised his eyebrows and shrugged, pulling out the second beer and walking back over to the couch. He then reached down and pulled up his right pant leg, which had been bloused to his boot, revealing a rather long looking knife. Apparently he'd had that the whole time. _Fantastic_, Fay thought, _glad he was feeling reasonable earlier._ He pulled out the knife and used it to pop the caps off the beers before returning it to its sheath on the inner part of his leg with one hand and handing a beer to her with the other.

"I mean, I had a plan, of course," she defended herself, despite Fox having said nothing, "The idea was to capture you-"

"Mission accomplished," Fox said, sipping his beer while staring absently at the far bulkhead.

"-_then_," she continued, "of course I would determine your reasons for all of this mess, and then either help you clear your name or…well…um, turn you in for crimes against Corneria?"

She said the last bit with a forced smile, and caught herself tweed-ling her thumbs before forcing herself to stop. She'd still been debating the second option, and honestly she had imagined the first to be a grand adventure with her childhood hero, chalked full of thrills and possibly even... She stole a quick glance at Fox, then stared back into the bottle she held in both hands. Anyway, it was all terribly awkward now that the choice was actually on her. She wasn't sure she _could _turn him in, truth be told, especially now that he knew who she was!

She sipped her beer in as ladylike a fashion as one can to help ease the tense-feeling silence that had apparently decided to move in.

"So," Fox said, to her relief, "Bounty hunting, huh? How…uh, or when did you decide…?"

She just blew her bangs out of her eyes and said, "Truthfully…?" she began to blush again, but hoped it didn't show as she went on, "about eleven years ago."

A sort of half-grin-half-frown spread across Fox's face as he leaned forward and let out a breath that was very likely a suppressed laugh.

"Really?" he said, "THAT, made you want to be a _bounty_ hunter, of all things?"

She straightened her back and lifted her nose just a bit.

"I was young and impressionable," she defended, "and it's not as though you didn't make a rather dashing role model. Besides, I'm not just a bounty hunter, I prefer to think of myself as a vigilante."

"And the difference, to you, would be?" Fox asked.

She smiled playfully and said, "I like the way the second one sounds."

"Ah."

The incident they had been referring to had happened when she was only eight years old. Her parents, whom she honestly had no memory of, had died when she was just a baby. According to her uncle, there had been a power struggle between her house and another, house Logain. Both her parents died in a car bombing. Her father had been the younger of the two sons of the current leader of their house, and had been far more accessible than her uncle, who was commanding a CFF cruiser at the time, and so she was orphaned before she was even weaned. Of course, she had been sent to live at her uncle's estate, and he'd cared for her like his own. Her cousins felt more like siblings, and her aunt and uncle were more like her de-facto mother and father.

In any event, her parents' assets were to become her inheritance once she turned sixteen. Somehow, when she was eight, this information came to fall into the hands of a certain criminal organization that specialized in kidnappings and ransom. They took her while she was on a trip to the family estate on Zoness, and she was held for nearly a week. In the end, her uncle, who was, by then, Consulate General, pulled strings to have her found. He couldn't openly allocate Fleet assets on a personal matter, however, because the Council wouldn't allow it, and so he had hired Star Fox to go in and retrieve her. When she was a bit older, she asked her uncle why he hadn't paid the ransom. He said he had agreed to, and they had asked for even more after that. He said that in that sort of situation they were either planning to take the money and kill her, or take the money and run with her so they could continue to extort the family, and that the situation had to be dealt with carefully.

She remembered being scared. They didn't hurt her, and they fed her, but they kept her blindfolded in a back room that smelled like cigarette smoke. It was probably the most traumatic thing that had ever happened to her. She couldn't tell how long she had been there, and she kept wondering if she was ever going to see her family again.

Then, one day, they had suddenly and with some urgency decided to move her. They'd threatened her and told her to keep quiet while they moved, that she'd be put in a large suitcase in the back of a levicraft, and that if she made a sound, they would beat her. She remembered how badly the inside of the suitcase had smelled, and though she didn't know what it was at the time, she could now identify the smell as 'rotten dead thing'. They were moving her when she heard muffled voices. Someone started to shout, there were a few 'thud's, a crunch, and the sound of someone gasping for air. Then there was two quick blaster shots, and nothing. Just quiet. Longest moment in her life, that quiet.

The next thing she new, she heard the sound of a zipper as the suitcase was opened, her blindfold was removed, and as soon as her eyes adjusted to the light, what should she see? Fox McCloud, twenty years old, having just saved the galaxy not two years before and yet there he'd been, surrounded by beaten up (though actually dead, looking back) bad guys, a confident smile on his face…and he told her everything was going to be alright.

"You gonna finish that," Fox suddenly asked.

"Hm?" she said, then realized he was referring to her beer. His was empty, and he'd set it on the small end table nearby. "Oh, right, sorry," she said, flashing a smile, "I was a little lost in memory."

A little over eleven years since the event, and he hardly seemed to have aged. She'd heard rumors about Vulpans, and she knew they tended to live a bit longer than other Lylatians, but still, he was just as handsome as she remembered.

"Yeah, well, stuff like that can stick with you," Fox said, seeming to refer to something else as that sad look briefly entered his eyes again, once it was gone he finished with, "but you look like you're doing alright. I take it Pepper doesn't know about any of this?"

"Lord no! It would kill him!" Fay said, blanching a little at the thought.

Fox gave a short laugh, scratched at the back of his neck again and said, "Yeah, well, he'd have good reason to worry, kid. This isn't the kind of life you should just _pick_."

"You did," she answered without looking at him. He didn't seem to have anything to say to that, so she got to her feet and went on, "Besides, what should I do? I can't live the life of a disenfranchised noblewoman. The best I can hope for there is a tolerable political marriage and a life of mediocrity. I've been doing this for almost two years…well a year and two months, but that isn't important. My point is I love it!"

Now she turned to face him again, "It's exciting, and I'm very good at it. You weren't my first target, you know. I know it's dangerous, but that's part of what makes it real! Life isn't safe, no matter how rich or secure you think you are. I learned that when I was young, so the way I see it, I can either hide from it, or face it head on. All you did was show me how much more interesting the latter was."

Fox gave up without anything close to a fight, shrugging and saying, "Don't want to be the pot calling the kettle black, kid. Life adrift has its up sides, but…" he fixed her with a serious look, eyes suddenly very cold and withdrawn, "you can't help me, and you can't come with me."

The words seemed to hang in the air for a second. He'd said them with such finality, like he was just dismissing her entirely.

"That isn't your choice," she answered, coolly.

"Not up for negotiation, Fay," he said, "I'm not dragging Pepper's niece into this shit. Right now we need to figure out a way of getting a signal to your ship, or, if we can't do that, then we need to find another way out of this mess, but as soon as we get someplace safe, we're going our separate ways, understood?"

Her blood was absolutely boiling at this point. After all of this, everything she'd done, he was treating her like a child! Well then, if he wanted to see what she was capable of, then so be it!

She got her anger under control, certain she hadn't shown it before, gently brushed her bangs aside, and said, quite clearly, "Mr. McCloud, there are only two ways you are getting off this ship. One is with my wholehearted cooperation. The other is as my prisoner. It's your decision."

Fox's shoulders slumped, and he rubbed at his temples again before saying, "I don't think you really understand-"

"I understand enough!" she curtly interrupted, "You've gotten yourself into a great deal of trouble, and I believe you have a good reason behind what you've done - even if you don't want to tell me what that might be. I understand that this is dangerous, and I understand what might happen to me if I'm caught helping you. I also _understand_ that if it weren't for you, I would very likely have never seen my ninth birthday. I owe you, and…I want to help you, one way or another."

"Fay…" Fox started.

"What will it be, Fox?" she asked, "prisoner, or partner?"


	26. Chapter 26

**Krystal**

Krystal pulled back on the throttle as she brought her Arwing down beside the others' on the wide landing pad. It had been a while since she'd piloted one, so she'd almost forgotten how well they handled. She'd found that the modified Wolfen she'd been piloting over the last few years outclassed the Arwing when it came to raw power. They had a larger drive core, so higher engine and weapons output, but there was something about the Arwing, the way it felt to pilot one. Higher maneuverability was part of it, of course, but it was just more…efficient? Streamlined, maybe?

_Smooth,_ someone else's words emerged from her memory. That's what it was. The Arwing just had a smoothness about it. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed that.

Not far off was the estate of their first contact, a minor noble named Donovan Redding. It was a fairly impressive place. The man's villa sat on top of a hill, some distance from where they were landing, and all around the hill's base were rows of bushes and lines of fruit-bearing trees. Even the long, paved roads that snaked through the grounds here and there were walled by hedges. The roads themselves looked to be cobbled, rather than simply paved, which gave them a certain classy look. Even the landing pad was surrounded by a short, elegant stone wall, and the point where the road ended and the pad began had an impressive double gate.

She popped the canopy as soon as she'd come to a stop and her engines were powered down, and as she climbed down the boarding ladder which had been wheeled beside her ship by the pad's small crew she heard Katt whistle loudly and say, "So this is what a _minor_ noble's estate looks like?"

Krystal's boots met nearly spotless white concrete as Falco piped in, "Must be nice, bein' born into money."

"Whew!" Slippy's voice came from behind her. He smiled innocently up at her as he walked up, stopping next to her and saying, "It's been way too long since I got to fly one of those! May have been a nightmare working for them, but Space Dynamics sure can build starfighters, right Krystal?"

"Yeah," Krystal said, wondering if she should say more. He was just talking, no motive, normal Slippy.

Before she could think of anything to say, though, he went on, scratching at his almost nonexistent chin as he said, "Hey, you've been flying one of those Wolfen fighters for a while now, right? How do they compare? I always wanted to ask, but, well, you're the first person I knew who'd flown one, and I…uh…"

She felt him grow suddenly nervous.

"Didn't think you should talk to me before," she finished, "because I was with Star Wolf."

His nervousness turned to embarrassment, and he struggled to say, "S-sorry, Krystal, I didn't mean-"

"It's alright," she said, then smiled a little, "and no, I didn't read your mind for that."

"Oh," he said, relaxing a bit. After a second, he laughed, "I can never tell. To be honest, I was afraid Amanda would have scolded me for waving other women. She can be a bit…uh, defensive, but maybe you can tell me about the Wolfen later? You'd be surprised how hard it is to find-"

"Yo, Slipp, get over here a sec, would ya?" Falco called, giving Krystal a short, nasty look while he did.

"Um," Slippy answered, eyes flitting briefly from Falco, to Krystal, then back to Falco again, "sure. Be right there!"

He turned back to her quickly, "I know you guys are mad at each other, but it's good to see-"

"Ain't got all day!" Falco barked, back now turned to the both of them. Katt punched him in the arm, and they started talking in low tones Krystal couldn't, and didn't care to make out. Slippy jogged over to them, and Falco started whispering something to him. She could feel his anger, though, so she imagined he didn't like Slippy being friendly to her.

She just shook her head. How a guy like Slippy survived in this world, she had no idea. There hadn't been a drop of hostility just then. He was just talking to her like she'd never left the team at all. All she knew was that Amanda had to be one hell of a wife. Thinking of that made her wonder how she'd taken the news that Slippy was quitting his job to chase his fugitive friend around the galaxy. Peppy was probably taking care of their family expenses for now, but what about after all this was over?

She began to walk over to the others since their conversation seemed to be over, and as she did, she spotted a levicar travelling down the cobbled road and away from the hilltop villa on its way over to them. She caught up with the others as they reached the edge of the landing pad and said, "Looks like our host is sending us a ride."

"A styling one too," Katt said with approval, "What do you figure that is, a Bentman?"

"Portroy," Slippy said after squinting at it a moment, "one of those new luxury models, too."

"Seems Peppy's family is doing well," Krystal added as the vehicle was drawing near.

"Yeah, well, whatever," Falco said, looking more than a little uncomfortable around all the frufery, "the old man said to hit this guy up and see what he knows, but he also said not to trust him too much. If he knows something about Fox, then great, but if not then we get the hell out of here - the sooner the better, too."

"Peppy wouldn't have sent us here if this guy didn't know something," Katt said, "besides, I've never ridden in a car that fancy before, and maybe they have some fancy finger foods laid out for us…rich people do that."

Her tail made a little swish, and she clapped her hands together. It was hard to believe she'd made a threat against Krystal's life not long ago.

Falco just frowned and said, "Tch, I've had rich people food before. Eighty creds gets ya an ounce of meat, a couple of fancily arranged vegetables, and some sauce splashed around the plate all pretty and shit. Didn't even taste that good."

The beginnings of an inquisitive and playful look crossed Katt's face but before she could say anything the levicar arrived. The man driving it was well dressed, but there was something off about him. He stepped out of the vehicle and gave a slight bow of the head. He was Cornerian, a weasel, well groomed and well dressed. The way he carried himself seemed to fit in perfectly with this place, and if it were anyone else he would just look like your run-of-the-mill chauffer, but he just _felt_ out of place. He wasn't comfortable with his surroundings, almost like Falco, except that his mind was more rigid, taciturn. He wasn't giving off any particularly strong thoughts, but Krystal decided to keep him in focus for the time being.

"Hello, and welcome to the estate of Lord Donovan Redding. I trust you are the 'security contractors' that the Consulate General informed us of?" he said, eyeing them all sharply.

In order to slip the blockades, they'd all been given fake names and identification, and were transmitting as government contractors. The trip to Corneria had taken less than an hour, and it had taken almost as long for the CDF task force to clear them to go planetside.

"That's right," Katt answered, "we were made to understand your employer had some information for us."

"Of course," the man said, "My name is Thomas Wesson, personal assistant to Lord Redding. If you would please find your way into the vehicle, I will take you to see him."

This man was more than he seemed. He had eyed them each in turn without condescension or approval, just assessment. As the others complied, Krystal paused to ask, "What, exactly, do your services to Lord Redding entail, Mr. Wesson?"

He smiled politely, but Krystal felt his guard go up. "I tend to a large number of trivialities which my Lord cannot be bothered with on a daily basis, such as retrieving his guests from the landing area of the estate, but I won't bore you with the details. Now, please, we mustn't keep your host waiting."

She just nodded at that, and walked over to the levicar with the others.

"What was that about?" Katt whispered once she sat down beside her in the back and pulled the door closed behind her.

"Nothing, just a bad feeling," Krystal answered, dismissively.

"Hm," Katt mused, "Me or Falco have a bad feeling, that might be nothing. YOU have a bad feeling, I get worried."

Well, at least she valued her input. Still, there wasn't anything to get jumpy about yet, and they needed to keep their cool when they met with Peppy's contact.

"Don't worry about it," she told Katt, "I just have a feeling Lord Redding's 'assistant' is more than he seems. If I get anything solid, I'll let you know."

Katt nodded seriously, then returned to her default relaxed persona as the man in question slid into the driver's seat. For the first time since they left that CFF cruiser, Krystal started to think they might work well together. Falco was the only real problem, and he seemed to trust Katt enough to more or less behave himself, save the occasional snide remark.

The car set off once everyone was settled, and even though they weren't going very fast, it only took a minute or two to reach the villa. It was a two story building, built around a central courtyard. The architecture seemed old fashioned, and not just crafted to look so. Chances were it was a well maintained carry-over from less advanced times, though gradual renovations and adaptations for the inclusion of technology were evident.

The car came to a gentle halt, and Falco, who had positioned himself in the front seat, was the first out and on his feet. He was edgy, to say the least, probably because of how at odds he was with a place like this. Slippy and Krystal got out at about the same time, and Katt followed Krystal out her side of the vehicle so they were all standing around the levicar in what very much looked like a secure perimeter.

"Well," Katt said after giving the area a short look around, "I guess we should go ahead and step inside."

"Wait here a moment," Wesson said from inside the vehicle, "I won't be long."

With that, he pulled the car away and drove it a short distance to the adjacent parking garage. Its architecture was obviously meant to mimic the main building, but you could tell it was much newer. There appeared to be a second floor to the little building with windows, likely a loft apartment. Krystal heard the coils wind down a few seconds after the car disappeared inside the garage, and not long after that their guide walked out and made his way back over to them.

"This way," he said, moving past them and toward the open archway leading into the courtyard. They followed a short distance behind and soon the villa rose around them on all sides. The main building was directly across the courtyard and Wesson was just opening the door for them as they reached it. "Please," he said, "Step inside and make yourselves comfortable. I will go and inform Lord Redding that you have arrived."

Katt nodded as she walked past him and into the building.

"Sure thing," she said, looking over the lavish interior of the building admiringly, "I take it we're not supposed to touch anything."

"I would consider it a kindness if you didn't," Wesson gratefully responded, pulling the door shut as the last of them made it inside, "Now, if you'll excuse me."

He gave another stiff bow and walked over to and up the tall, curved staircase nearby. Once they decided he was out of earshot, Katt leaned over to Falco and said, "So, when did _you_ eat rich people food?"

Krystal suppressed a smile and Falco cocked his head curiously to one side as he looked over at her.

"What?" he asked.

Katt shrugged and said, "You said you'd eaten ritzy food before, and I just can't picture you rubbing shoulders with the rich and fabulous, so I figured there must be a story behind it."

"Like it'd be any easier pitcurin' it if it were you," Falco returned, suddenly radiating discomfort "Anyway, it wasn't anything interesting. A few years back me and Fox were hired to escort some rich prick's gold to his bankers. We got in contact with him, and he wanted to talk business over dinner."

Slippy's eyes lit up as he exclaimed, "Oh yeah! I remember that. He had that Justice on display at his place. Beautiful bike! Uh…didn't Fox say the old guy made a pass at you?"

Falco turned angry in a flash, but he didn't shout. He probably would have, but he was likely feeling hushed because of where they were. Instead he gritted his teeth and said, "He was just lucky the money was good. Wondered why Fox brought me to a place like that. Bet the asshole thought he was bein' clever…"

"When was this?" Krystal asked, lightheartedly.

Falco just turned his anger at her and snapped, "Non'ya damn business!"

"Falco!" Katt scolded.

There was a few tense seconds after that before Slippy sighed uncomfortably and answered her with his usual politeness. "It was a few months before you joined up with us."

Falco just sneered and threw his eyes elsewhere as Slippy continued, "It was a good job, and the only one we'd had in a while. Most of the money ended up going to maintenance though, and we didn't get much work after that. The whole thing got Fox and Falco arguing again, so, a few days after the job was done, Falco took his share and went to look for work on his own."

Krystal appreciated the effort, but she was right back to feeling unwelcome again.

"Shut it, would ya Slippy?" Falco growled, "that ain't something she needs to know about. Besides, I came back when ya needed me, didn't I?"

Katt rolled her eyes and said, "Alright, alright, I just wanted to hear a funny story, not an argument," trying to bring things to a close. She gave Krystal a half-hearted, apologetic smile, then looked back to Falco.

"Who's arguin'?" Falco barked, "I was _tellin-_"

The sound of someone clearing their throat nearby shifted everyone's attention. Wesson was standing at the base of the stairs, apparently waiting for them to finish. When or how he'd gotten there without any of them noticing was something of a mystery. Krystal felt particularly embarrassed, since she should have sensed him approach. She'd let herself get distracted.

"Lord Redding will see you in his study," he said, directing them up the stairs with a wave of his hand, "may I presume to suggest you _not_ allow the Avian to speak for you?"

Falco rolled his shoulders back and looked ready for a fight, but Katt placed a hand on his shoulder and said, "I'll be representing our group, if that's alright."

Wesson just nodded, and gave them directions to the study, saying, "I would show you myself, but it isn't difficult to find, and Lord Redding has given me an errand I must see to immediately."

Falco flashed a smug grin while he passed him on their way up the stairs and said, "Yeah, well don't rush on our account. I'll take a steak, medium rare, and don't skimp on the fixin's, huh Jeeves?"

The Katinese man just curled an indignant lip before turning his attention elsewhere. This time, however, there was a thought loud enough for Krystal to hear: "_Four pounds pressure to snap the Avian's neck, all it takes."_

That was more than a bit unnerving. The thought patterns just then were completely different from his outward behavior. It hadn't even sounded the same. This man was either insane, or an excellent actor.

"I believe that man wants to kill you," she quietly told Falco.

"You two should get along fine," he answered.

She stopped dead on the steps. It took all she had not to bite his smug little head off, but after a second or two she started walking again. She wondered if he knew how easily she could do what that man had been thinking. She'd learned hand-to-hand combat when she'd joined Star Fox, _he_…Fox had insisted on it. She'd already known a little, a few basic forms, but at the time she'd sensed an opportunity, and had insisted that _he_ be the one to teach her…

She caught herself daydreaming, and straightened up as they came to the room that Wesson had said was the study. Her final thought on the issue was that she'd turned out to be about as good a student as he'd been a teacher. Whatever else she could think to say about him, Fox knew how to hurt people.

"Alright, just let me do the talking," Katt said as they came up to the door, "the details on this guy weren't very clear, but he seems to have connections in the Consulate Intelligence Agency, and he's offered to help Peppy, not us, which means he's not going to think of us as anything but go-betweens. Might take a bit of convincing to get anything good out of him."

"Okay, okay," Falco said, "Let's just go in. I want to get what we came for and get gone already," then, under his breath, "probably gonna bill us for the damn parking…"

Katt nodded, stood up a little straighter, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open, shifting seamlessly into a professional demeanor as she strode confidently into the room beyond.

At the far end of the study, sitting behind a large wooden desk and pouring over holo forms, was a man looking to be in his early forties. His black hair was peppered with grey, and his long ears were tied back behind his head and neck to give a more regal appearance. Other than being a hare, however, there was little family resemblance between this man, and Peppy.

He looked them over unenthusiastically, and said, "Is this the best my cousin could send? I would have thought-"

He just stopped talking altogether as his eye found Krystal, and a single thought seemed to leap out of his mind.

_Cerinian._

It was only the space of an instant before he seemed to recover himself. Without losing a beat, he said, "-that he'd at least come personally, given what I stand to offer. Still, I suppose it would be 'uncouth' for the serving Consulate General to stoop so low as to see such a low ranking member of our house in person. Ah, but where are my manners? I seem to be in the presence of a lady."

He got to his feet as he finished speaking, and Katt shot a sort of triumphant glance over to Falco. Whatever small victory she had thought she gained, however, was apparently trumped when he gestured to Krystal and asked, "What is your name, Madame?"

"Selphia Bennett," she answered, politely giving her assigned cover name.

His eyes were piercing, but he smiled and gave a slight bow of the head, saying, "A pleasure, Ms. Bennett, truly," then immediately thinking, _but what is your REAL name, I wonder._

A thousand questions began swimming through her head. Who was this man? What did he know? How did he know about Cirinia? She watched him coolly as he then shifted his attention back to Katt, retaking his seat as he addressed her.

"And you would be?" he asked, dismissively.

Katt cleared her throat in an agitated fashion before curtly answering, "Kate Glass, and these are my associates."

She gestured to Slippy first, "Jacob Heart," then Krystal, "I believe you've met Selphia," and finally, Falco, "and Baldwin Eagles."

It was a miracle that none of them laughed, with the exception of Falco, whose face was like a stone slab. Peppy had personally come up with the names they were to travel by, and Katt hadn't given Falco much slack over his during the trip.

"Now," Katt continued, maintaining her professionalism, "we were led to believe you had information regarding the whereabouts of Fox McCloud."

"Were you?" he asked, flatly, in return, "Well I'm afraid you've been misinformed. I don't know where that man is, and if I did I wouldn't be passing that information on to anyone other than the General himself, if not the Council."

"Then why the hell-!" Falco started, but Katt held up a hand to gently calm him.

"You must know something," she said, "or we wouldn't be here."

"I might know everything," he smugly replied, "but information is a valuable resource, one that has earned me a great deal of affluence, both personally and within my House. I am somewhat reluctant to waste such a valuable commodity on the working class."

Krystal had read the man's dossier on during the trip. Most of his personal information was classified, so they weren't given much to go on, but it was stated that due to the nature of House Redding, the information he provided would likely prove reliable. Redding was one of the largest noble houses on Corneria, and the family tree had branched so far and wide, that a system existed within the house to keep family members from killing each other for control. Prominence within the house was granted based on an individual's value to the house as a whole. Individuals who brought in a great deal of money, prestige, or political power to the Redding name were elevated in status, and the most prominent member would serve as house leader.

Redding sighed, resignedly, "However, since it would no doubt assist my noble cousin, I suppose I could part with the information. It may interest you to know that I can give you the whereabouts of a man McCloud was recently in contact with."

"How recently?" Katt asked.

"A few days ago," Redding replied, "I still have a number of close associates from my days as a sub-director in the Agency. The good general is not privy to information gathered by the CIA, you see, as they report directly to the council. In any event, it seems McCloud was spotted in Sargasso. He was there speaking with an information trafficker named Aleksie Vadikov who was set up on some piecemeal slum of a colony."

"The Rock," Falco growled.

"Sargasso is locked down pretty tight, as I understand it," Katt said, "what good is this to us if we can't even go talk to him?"

"As it would happen, he is alive, and no longer in Sargasso."

"Then where is he?" Faclo jumped in.

"What do you mean he's alive?" Katt asked at the same time. She looked agitatedly over at Falco, then went on, "Was he supposed to be dead?"

The man brushed both questions off, and looked back to Katt.

"There was something of an explosion, though none of the bodies found were identifiable. Vadikov was assumed killed, but I have information suggesting that he was not."

"Alright," Katt pressed, "but if you got this information from your contacts in the Agency, then aren't they already after this guy?"

"As far as the council or any of their organizations know, this man is dead. I learned of his survival from…other circles I've maintained since my retirement, but I'm afraid that is all I'm willing to disclose unless Peppy deigns to see me himself. I'm certain if the information I offer is in any way useful, the General will be sure to give you all the details, but I'm done with you. Now please, show yourselves out, and give Peppy my regards."

With that, he turned back to his holoforms and resumed pointedly ignoring their existence.

Falco stormed out immediately, and Slippy was quick to follow, but Katt stayed behind long enough to say, "I'm sure Peppy will make it worth your while. We were sent to make sure you actually had something worth his time, and I believe you might. We'll pass that on, and he'll decide what your information is worth."

She turned on her heel as she finished, but paused before leaving the room when she noticed Krystal wasn't moving. Katt gave a questioning look, but Krystal said, "Go on ahead, I have something I want to ask him before we leave."

"Well, alright, but don't take too long," Katt whispered back, "I'll try to keep Falco from leaving without you," and with that she left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

As soon as it closed, Redding gave up the ruse that he was actually reading anything on his desk, and looked up at Krystal.

"I apologize for my earlier rudeness," he said, "Was there something you wished to ask me?"

Krystal suppressed a cold chill as she bluntly asked her question, "Who are you, and what do you know about Cerinia?"

A cunning smile crept to the corners of the man's mouth, and he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his lap as he said, "Odd, I don't recall having said anything about any 'Cerinia'…but then, perhaps you didn't need me to."

"What do you know?" she asked, this time more forcefully. She was completely focused on him, waiting for any strong emotions or stray thoughts, but the man's mind felt like a steel trap.

He smiled, and Krystal could feel his confidence as he said, "Only a little. A species similar to Vulpan was discovered on a planet far outside of the Lylat system, and some of them were rumored to have telepathic abilities, if I'm not mistaken. As I understand it, however, that world met with some sort of misfortune did it not?"

She felt like someone had punched her in the gut, and she became a little light headed. Eight years. She'd come to Lylat eight years ago, and no one, in all her searching, had ever heard of her world.

"As to who I am," Redding continued, "I am exactly who I claim to be. Donovan Redding, noble member of House Redding, and I'm afraid you'll find I have few answers for you, Cirinian."

She glared at him, furious. He knew more than he was saying, she could feel it. She had a thousand questions, but what angered her more than anything was that after tempting her with so little information, she could also feel the truth behind his words when he said he wouldn't have answers.

Before she could say anything, he held up a hand and said, "I do, however, know someone who can likely tell you more, if you're interested."

The question sprang from her, "Who?"

"I believe he would prefer I not say, at this time," he answered, calmly, "Suffice to say he and I have worked together in the past, and have since maintained an amicable business relationship. I can arrange a meeting between the two of you, but it may take a few days. He isn't an easy man to get an audience from."

It sounded too good to be true, but how could she not pursue this? She had to at least give it a chance if it meant she could find out anything! She took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Are you not interested?" Redding asked, looking surprised, but emanating a mixture of assuredness and satisfaction. He knew she wanted to talk to whoever this man was. Cirinia was her home, and she had never known what had happened, but what about Fox? She couldn't just abandon - she frowned and bit the inside of her lip, derailing the thought - she'd made a commitment to find him and put a stop to all this madness, that was _all_ this was about...

. . .

Donovan sat at his desk, feeling rather good about today's events. He opened one of the large bottom drawers and retrieved the bottle he kept there, pouring some of its contents into a glass he kept handy before returning it to its former resting place. The Cerinian had left with the others, but he was certain she'd be back. It was only a matter of time. He had let her go with the number to his secure wave line and an open invitation to call him whenever she wished to arrange a meeting with his 'friend'. Now all he had to do was wait.

He heard their ships take off, and turned to watch them fly away. At the same time, he saw Wesson approaching in the Portroy. He tapped the specified button at the corner of his desk's screen and his 'assistant's' voice responded, saying, "Yeah?"

"Were you able to install the tracking devices as I instructed?" Donovan asked.

"No need," Wesson answered, evidently dropping his butler act, "Someone's already tracking them, but I tapped the feed, so we'll know where they are too."

_Clever Hare_, Donovan thought. It seemed Peppy was smart enough not to trust his people too much.

"Fine," he said, "there's been an unexpected development. When you get back here, I want you to open a secure channel, and contact Vekker. Tell him I've found something that might interest him."


	27. Chapter 27

**Matters of Principal**

(*geedunk – a snack bar aboard military vessels and installations. Now you know, and knowing is half the battle! G-I-Joe! …enjoy)

They never listened. Fox liked to think of himself as a generally sensible guy, not one to come to conclusions without the presence of sound reason. Wasn't like he'd done a particularly bad job of explaining himself, either. Just seemed to be his lot in life – first there'd been Samantha Greene, back in primary school, Rebecca in the academy, Krystal, of course…and now Fay. It'd be nice if once, just _once_-

"Would you PLEASE turn that rubbish off?" Fay's voice came from the speakers in his helmet as he finished his work on the external transmitter array, "or at least make it so that I don't have to hear it over the comm.!"

Fox just shook his head wearily, determined to try and make his point – again.

"It _isn't _'rubbish', alright?" he said, having to talk over the sound of possibly one of the greatest guitar solos of all time, "this is a classic!"

"Von Kohl's third symphony was classic," she retaliated, "that rubbish you're listening to is just old. Old doesn't make something classic."

"That's two completely different genres!" Fox shot back, exasperated. He moved slowly in the zero-G as he closed and secured the panel he'd been working on and stood up, feet secured to the Great Fox's hull by the grav-locks in the souls of his boots, "You can't compare classic rock to classic _orchestra_! It's like comparing apples and oranges."

"I wasn't comparing anything," Fay defended, "I was explaining the difference between a form of music, which embodies the_ classic_ themes of emotion and expression from a more _classical_ era, thus a classic, and the noise you're listening to. The only thing that the two have in common is how boring they are."

His whole body slumped inside his vac-suit before he shook off the futility of it all and trudged somberly on.

"Not even gonna dignify that with a response," he muttered, his reflection scowling back at him on the inside of his helmet as he headed back toward the airlock. He could see the ruined exterior of the bridge from where he was, silhouetted against the molten, boiling surface of Solar. Jagged metal bent inward at the edges of gaping blast holes gave glimpses into rooms and passageways now exposed to space, lights flickering here and there from somewhere inside. Sig, Fay's A.I., had managed to get the ship into geosynchronous orbit of Solar before the Great Fox's maneuvering thrusters had burned though most of its secondary power reserves. They were currently on the night side of the planet, hiding from Lylat's sun in its shadow.

"At least play something a little more modern," Fay drove on.

When he came to the edge of the outer hull, the metal beneath his feet curved downward, and as he followed it he found himself walking 'down' in relation to the ship's internal gravity. Out here there was no sense of direction, so you had to think of down as wherever your feet were pointing to keep yourself oriented.

Fox rolled his eyes. "I haven't heard anything that's come out in the last ten years that didn't sound like some punk-ass kid screaming and crying about his personal problems. Why would I want to hear that? Why would _anyone_ want to hear that?"

He walked until he came to the exterior hatch of airlock 22, crouched beside it, and punched in his access code on its key pad. It was just a small maintenance hatch, so you could fit, maybe, three people in the chamber on the other side shoulder-to-shoulder.

"You're being too callous!" Fay said, as the hatch opened soundlessly in the void and Fox grabbed the handle on its interior to pull himself inside. As he drifted in, 'down' became 'sideways', and he corrected himself as he hit the button to close the hatch. "Maybe if you would try to empathize with the artist you could enjoy the emotional context of new wave-"

Air hissed into the chamber, the artificial gravity took hold, and Fox switched off the power on the suit's wrist controls and removed his helmet as soon as the light above the door leading further inside changed from red to green. Now he could only hear Fay's voice as it echoed from further down the passageway. He took a few minutes to remove his vac-suit and shove it into a storage locker, and then went to check on her progress.

"Look," Fox said as he rounded the corner and walked into the room behind her, "I'm a man. To me, 'empathizing' with another man means slapping him on the back and handing him a beer. I hear some guy pissing and moaning to God and everyone on the interlink about how _dark_ his _soul_ is, it makes me want to give him a swift kick someplace tender – maybe then he remembers he was born with a pair…"

"Fox!" Fay said, in ladylike appall but smiling a little despite herself, "That's awful!"

He shrugged, and said, "Men should handle their own problems, not go griping to everyone else, that's all."

Fay just sighed softly in return, turned back to the machinery she was working on, and said, "Everyone needs help sometimes."

Fox didn't have much to say to that, nothing polite, anyway. It wasn't that he thought she was wrong, but Fox had never been one to rely on other people's charity. Help was fine when it came freely, but that was rare. Most times, 'help' came with some kind of price tag. Wasn't always an obvious one, but it was there, and sooner or later the bill always came due. That's why he preferred mercenary work. You spell out your price up front when you help people - just more honest that way.

"How are things coming in here?" he asked, looking over her shoulder to see her handiwork. They were standing in the maintenance room for the transmitter array, three decks below where Fox had been out on the hull. The array's internal workings were in here, and a considerable amount of it was scattered over the deck as Fay dug out the ship's broken I.D. box.

"About as well as it looks," she answered, "sorry to say that I'm not turning out to be a very good mechanic."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't have to be pretty, it just has to work," Fox reassured her.

She slumped her shoulders and blew out an exasperated breath, then turned to him, fixing Fox with those big blue eyes, and said, "Maybe you should finish up here. I've done what I could, but-"

"Hey now," Fox said, throwing his hands up and backing off a step, "you said you wanted to be my partner, and the way I understand it, partners do their share of the work. Now, I'm no mechanic either, but I did my job, and rerouting the nav. feed to that array wasn't fun, so I'm gonna go rest my weary bones back in the rec. room. If anything life threatening comes up, come get me, otherwise let me know when everything's ready in here."

He turned and walked back out the door as he finished speaking, shoving his hands into his pockets as he went. To be honest, he probably didn't know what he was doing any better than she did, and keeping her working in here would at least keep her off his back while he took a moment to relax. He was just out the door when he heard her wearily say, "Alright Sig, walk me through it again…"

Walking back to the recreation area was like navigating a maze. Every so often a sealed blast door forced detours through other areas, and what should have taken around a minute took close to five. There was an unsettling quiet permeating the ship, and every little noise he made as he walked was amplified by it – made the fur on the back of his neck bristle. You spend enough time living aboard a ship, listening to her heart beat and feeling its pulse, could make it a bit unsettling when all you could hear was the nothing telling you she's all but dead. According to Sig's damage report, roughly sixty percent of the ship didn't have air, and the areas that did were mostly separated into varyingly sized pockets. A rough warp like the one they'd come out of was hell on a ship's superstructure, and the stress of it had put all kind of hurt on the old girl. Luckily, most of this deck was alright, but fires and radiation leaks had caused some of the blast doors to seal shut, and the remaining auxiliary power was too precious to waste on trying to open them up again…not sure he'd want to anyway, given why they'd been sealed.

He finally came to the rec. room, and took a moment to stretch out before shaking it off and, walking over to the geedunk*, opened the only compartment he knew had any food and pulled out a bowl of instant noodles. A quick glance at the label told him they were about two months past their expiration date, but what the hell. Never killed him before, and that mealbar from earlier hadn't lasted him too long. He walked over to the couch, yanking the little zip-cord spooled into the bottom of his bowl as he went. It gave a whir, warmed quickly in his hand, and by the time he sat down and tore off the cover, the noodles inside were steaming and ready. Being expired hadn't seemed to have affected the smell much and he dug in before the salvia even got a chance to build in his mouth, noting that two months expired seemed to be fine for this particular brand.

He slurped down the noodles with the little plastic fork the bowl came with, chased it down with the broth, and gave a coup de grace of a satisfied sigh once the warm, flavorful liquid hit his gut. When he'd finished, he dropped his fork into the bowl, tossed the bowl in the general direction of the trash shoot, and immediately slid down into an easy slouch.

He felt tired…God, did he feel tired. He only sat that way for a minute before his eyes grew heavy. So much had happened over such a short period of time, now that he had a quiet minute to himself, it all seemed to be catching up – more of a bone-weariness than a simple need for sleep, though. Between his recent bouts of unconsciousness and the occasional near death experience, he'd probably done his share of sleeping for about a month…not that it seemed to help much. Even when he slept, he found himself dreaming, and none of it'd been particularly good from the bits he could remember. That was probably part of why he was fighting to keep his eyes open, but there was something…maybe it was nothing, but every time he thought about sleeping lately, he felt uneasy.

For a long moment he just stared ahead blankly. A heavy feeling started to settle over him before he caught himself, catching his forehead with his hand and physically pushing his head back up, then sliding his fingers back through his short hair and looking up at the ceiling. It wasn't just fatigue, he knew that. He'd lost a friend, and even though he couldn't stop to sulk like most anyone probably would, he was still carrying it – bad habit of his, he supposed.

He could use a drink, but as the thought occurred to him, he also realized that those two beers he and Fay had downed a while ago had accounted for the last of his booze. There might have been a bottle of _something_ lying around the ship somewhere, but the shape the Great Fox was in, he couldn't exactly go and look, so instead he resituated himself on the couch so he was sitting across it long ways, feet kicked up on the far armrest while his back rested on the other and his hands folded behind his head. He let out an easy breath and allowed his eyes to close as he sat and listened to the quiet. After a second or two, he said aloud, "Sorry Rob, I'll raise one to you when I get the chance."

It was a promise more than a statement. Not much you could do for fallen friends, but a man should remember them, leastwise, and it was one of the few things Fox could toast to these days.

After a few quiet minutes, he started going over the plan again in his head, like clockwork, like he was taught. Fay's gunship was orbiting Bayoon, most of its systems powered down to avoid detection as it waited for her to send for it. According to her, the ship was unmanned when she wasn't flying it herself, and was usually controlled by her suit's A.I. when she wasn't on board, but they needed long range communications in order for Sig to sync up with the ship's systems and bring it here, as Fay had planned. Their first obstacle was that there was no way of getting the Great Fox's long-comms online without it's warp drives working, as they relied on the warp systems to create a very narrow corridor of compressed space through which to fire a communications wave to the nearest comm. buoy. At this point, all they could do was send an indirect pulse through the transmitter array – essentially a make-shift distress beacon.

Second obstacle was that the Great Fox's transmitter array didn't currently work. The array itself was fine, as far as Fox knew, but the I.D. box was fried and the system wouldn't function without it. It was looking like a dead end until he'd remembered the I.D. box he'd dug out of that CFF interceptor. Installing it in place of the Great Fox's damaged one would get the array up and working – in theory, at least – though, because it would have to be jerry-rigged, and the box wasn't exactly compatible with the ship's outdated systems, instead of an I.D. all the array would transmit would be gibberish, static code, and most ship's comm. systems would automatically filter it out as white noise. In the end it wasn't likely to even be picked up.

It had been Orian that'd suggested an unseen possibility, which Fox had then had to pass off as his own. By establishing a direct link to the array from the ship's computation and navigation matrix, which was controlled by Sig, Fays A.I. could transmit a coded signal on a frequency that Fay's gunship was programmed to detect. It would be hidden along with the static when they sent their pulse, and when it reached Aquas, it would give her ship the Great Fox's coordinates and a pre-calculated warp trajectory, first through the Z-nebula, which Aquas was closest to this time of year, then on to their current location. The detour through the nebula would take a while, but it was a necessary precaution. Fay said her ship had a black box I.D. transmitter, which meant it could copy and imitate other ship's I.D.s as well as transmit custom ones, useful for avoiding security, and therefore normally used by smugglers and the like. Still, given the state of Lylat, the CDF might try to hail the ship, and when there was no one there to respond, they'd have to pursue. It would be on autopilot, so there wouldn't be any fancy maneuvers. All they could count on it to do was avoid large objects and fly its designated route, so if the CDF were really after it, and they caught it before it warped out of the nebula, then Fay's ship wasn't coming, end of story. Still, the trip through the nebula would mask its second warp trail, so assuming it made it out of Aquas, it would be much more difficult to follow.

Putting that aside, given that the signal would take about three hours to reach Aquas, and assuming everything went smoothly after that, then they were looking at about a five hour wait after it was sent before Fay's ship would arrive. Best case scenario, it drops out of warp, Fox loads up what he figures he can't live without from the Great Fox, and they warp out of here before anyone stumbles across them. Worst case scenario, whoever's in command of the task force around Aquas notices the gunship and decides to pull out its navigation data after they bring it in. Instead of a rescue, they'd have about a dozen CDF ships dropping in on them…at which point Fox has Fay slap him in irons again and turn him over like that'd been her plan all along. No sense dragging her down with him.

Wasn't his best contingency plan ever, but, while he was thinking along those lines, he still had to decide what to do about her. He'd agreed to let her come with him, but only to get her cooperation for the time being. She had some skill, tracking him all this way, but she relied on her gadgets too much. She couldn't wear that suit all the time, and it only takes one careless mistake to get someone killed.

She was dead-set on helping him, though, he understood that, but he still wasn't convinced her head was in the right place when she made that decision. She was young, and Fox wasn't as dense as he sometimes played at. He understood where she was coming from. She saw him as a role model, same way he'd seen his father. It probably didn't even compute that he'd been _paid_ to rescue her back then.

He frowned to himself. He couldn't let Fay throw her life away because of her misguided feelings of obligation or_ hero_-worship.

It wasn't that she didn't make a tempting ally, though. She had resources – a working ship for one, money for another – and she seemed more than capable of putting them to use. If it were most anyone else, he'd probably consider it. Hell, if it had been anyone else he'd consider a few things, but, honestly, ever since he'd realized who she was, all he could see was that little girl he'd saved, smiling up at him with those big, blue eyes and that very red bow.

He did remember thinking that she was going to be a knockout some day, though. At least he'd seen that one coming.

He opened his eyes and stared vacantly across the room. He wasn't going to be responsible for leading that little girl to an early grave. So far, the farther he chased this thing, the worse his situation seemed to get, and, as always, the people close to him were feeling the brunt of it.

He sat up straight again, brow furrowed as he propped his head up on the interlaced fingers of his hands. He had to find a way to either convince Fay not to get herself involved, or to get away from her. The only problem was, 'how?' If he was patient, she would eventually let her guard down, and he could _try_ to give her the slip, but she'd already proven hard to shake, and he was quickly running out of good hiding places. Not to mention, if she took it personal then those same resources that made her an attractive partner could also make her a problematic enemy.

_Hell hath no fury…_, he thought to himself.

There had to be some way out of this, but before he could think any further on it, Fay's voice came over the comm.

"Alright!" she said, sounding highly pleased with herself, "we're all hooked up and ready to go! I, um…well, I think we are. No, this should be right. Yes, well, your presence, Mr. McCloud, is requested in the maintenance room."

He frowned a little at being called a '_Mr.'_, but she sounded excited, so he figured he'd let this one slide. As for what to do, he still didn't know, but he was playing with the idea of waiting a while, at least until they were off this ship and somewhere relatively safe, then trying to reason with Fay. He might be able to convince her of what could happen to her uncle if she gets herself caught up in all this, but he didn't have high hopes. They never did listen…

. . .

Fay stood dotingly over her work with a satisfied smile. It was stifling in the little room with all that active hardware, so she was a bit sweaty and her bangs were stuck to her forehead. At that _particular_ moment, however, she didn't care. If anyone had asked her that morning if she could hardwire an I.D. box from one ship into another, she would have told them they were stark raving mad, but she'd done it despite herself! Sig had helped, in a purely advisory role, of course, but the accomplishment was still hers to enjoy. All around her lay the disemboweled innards of the transmitter array, a disheveled but functional testament to her no-less-than-miraculous feet of impromptu engineering! Now all that was needed to cement her personal victory was to show Fox. He may have been a bit of a bugger about it, but he had shown confidence in her ability to do the deed when she'd wanted to give it up, and she wanted to let him see the unkempt fruits of his trust!

She could hardly wait, and was so pleased with herself that she almost did a little twirl before abruptly bringing herself to a halt, becoming suddenly aware of how childish that would have been. Feeling a little embarrassed, she took a moment to push the excitement down a bit. The last thing Fay wanted was for Fox not to take her seriously. Being proud of her work was fine, but she didn't want him to see her twirling about the room like a little girl, not after he'd finally agreed to let her help him.

She did, of course, find herself wondering whether he preferred women with a little…ah, vivaciousness? Silly thing to think about just then, truly. She had to remain professional, at least until she could prove to him that he could trust her.

That was beginning to look like it would be something of a challenge, though. He didn't seem like the trusting type. She wasn't naïve, she knew when she was being handled, and Fox wasn't being entirely honest with her. He was hiding things, but then she supposed that was to be expected. After all, she'd more-or-less dropped in on him out of the blue, and it wasn't as if they were close friends or anything.

Time – that's what she needed, time with Fox to let him get used to her, maybe even get him to feel that he can rely on her a little. Then she could concentrate on luring him out of that shell of his. Sooner or later, she wanted to meet the real Fox McCloud, not this 'jaded old soldier' act he seemed to be trying to hide behind, but the Fox that smiles down at you and makes the whole galaxy seem…safe.

The sound of boots meeting metal let her know Fox was coming, and, quick as a whip, she did what she could to straighten up her hair and turned to face the door with mock impatience.

Fox walked casually into the room as he secured his wrist unit to his right forearm with a metallic click before looking up at her, then at the machinery, then back to her again.

"Didn't take you long," he said, sounding impressed, "we transmitting already?"

"Not yet," she answered, cheerily, "Sig is performing a quick diagnostic on the system, but once he's done with that, we should be ready to go."

"Sure is a useful little program you've got," he said, "the one I've been using hasn't been good for much other than conversation."

After a moment, something made his brow twitch, but he seemed to brush whatever it was off and said, "Good work, kid." Pre-empting the objection she was about to make about giving Sig all the credit. Still, 'kid?'

"So, what happens now?" She asked, trying to keep the conversation up.

He didn't answer, but stared vacantly at her for a long moment.

"Um," she said, suddenly concerned for her appearance, "Fox?"

He shook his head and his eyes regained focus.

"Sorry," he said, rubbing at his temples and taking a seat on a nearby toolbox, "I'm just a little tired, that's all."

He looked tired, but there was something else as well.

"Earlier," she said, studying McCloud, "you said you'd lost a friend on the bridge?"

"Yeah," he said, flatly and with no attempt to elaborate.

It seemed he didn't want to talk about that, and she didn't want to pry, but still – "If…well, you can talk to me, if you like."

He smiled wearily while his eyes remained distant and he said, "Thanks Fay, but it shouldn't be a problem."

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. She hadn't said it would be a problem, she just wanted Fox to talk about it instead of being so reclusive. It couldn't be good for him, keeping everything bottled up like that. Of course, she may have been a bit forward just then, basically asking him to confide in-

"And I don't blame you, by the way," he said, taking her a little off guard.

"What?"

"Before I knew who you were," Fox said, "you said you thought I blamed you for what happened."

"Oh, yes, right," she said, fidgeting with her bangs, "Well, I also believe I said it was 'as much your fault as mine'…I, um, I didn't mean that. I was just-"

"Don't worry about it," he said, smiling briefly as if to say _I'm fine, really._

He still wasn't showing any real emotion. A weak smile or raised eyebrow here and there, sure, but nothing palpable. Even as tired as he was, he was still managing to keep that guard up – 'keeping people at arm's length,' she believed it was called. She wondered if he was consciously suppressing his expressions, or if controlling them had somehow become instinctual for him. Was he really so determined to avoid people that he'd learned to do it while staring them in the face?

Just thinking about it made her feel at once both lonely and a bit sad. Had he always been this way? She tried to remember what he was like before, but she'd rarely seen him in person growing up, only when he came to see her uncle. That hadn't been often, and she'd never had the courage to go up and talk to him when she was younger.

When Fox's eyelids began to droop, he shook his head and got to his feet, blowing out a beleaguered breath and staring over at the machinery again.

"You should get some rest," Fay said, concerned, "Sig should start transmitting soon, but we have a while before my ship gets here in any event, and it won't due to have you making mistakes because of fatigue."

Fox's only reply was a grunt and a scratch at the base of his neck as he seemed to think it over. It made her wonder what was stopping him. He was clearly exhausted, and they had time. Why not sleep?

She shook her head, then said, "Go on, I'll keep watch. You know, in case we run into trouble out here in the middle of-"

The ship suddenly shook under their feet and a deep rumble resounded through its bulkheads.

"-nowhere…what was that?" she asked, "Sig, is something wrong?"

Fox was still, ears and eyes alert as he waited and listened, his weary outward appearance from a moment ago gone without a trace.

Another tremor rocked them, though not as hard this time, and Sig came over the comm. saying, "Ma'am, it appears another vessel has attached itself to the exterior of the ship, and has extended a docking tube to airlock 12, Deck 1. Exterior sensors are down, and no identification or attempts to communicate were sent – assumed hostile."

"Salvagers?" Fox asked aloud as a strange, almost eager look gleamed briefly in his eyes, "or pirates…maybe."

"What do you think we should do?" she asked, striking a button on her suit which caused it to activate, tightening into a second skin save for the armor-plated bits.

"Go get your helmet," he answered, staring off in thought, "I…don't want anyone identifying you."

What? Her helmet? She thought for a moment before remembering it was all the way back in the rec. room, but, "Why? Do I stand out from the million-or-so other silver haired Cornarians in Lylat?"

"Don't argue, just do it," Fox said, marching quickly out of the room.

She followed him out, asking, "Where are _you_ going?"

"For a gun," he called back over his shoulder before breaking into a jog and disappearing down an intersecting passageway.

"Brilliant," she grumbled, turning and running toward the rec. room in the opposite direction, "Sig, give me an update, what are our guests doing?"

"I do not have a visual on their vessel, but a bridge-mounted camera shows four targets approaching along the ship's exterior. They are likely attempting to enter via the damaged areas in the bridge's outer hull."

"Why don't they just override an airlock?" she asked aloud.

"They tried, ma'am. I was almost through their firewalls before they cut the connection."

She smiled to herself and said, "Good boy."

She rounded a corner and found herself at a sealed blast-door.

"Bugger!" she growled, backtracking, and then coming to another dead end, "Sig, can you please do something about these bloody doors?"

"Negative, ma'am," the A.I. answered, "doing so would be hazardous."

She blew at a stray hair and started running again, saying, "Fine, then give me some directions."

Sig complied, and after going a ways in the opposite direction and taking a few twists and turns she wound up back at the rec. room, having wasted more time than she would have thought possible along the way. Why was getting her helmet so bloody important? Her suit worked fine without it – personal shields, physical enhancers, cyber warfare systems – everything a blossoming young woman could want. Unless he needed her to take a short walk in the vacuum, there was no need for it. Was he really paranoid enough to believe that whoever these people were, they would see her and say, '_hey, isn't that Fay MacDane?' _She wasn't exactly famous!

She spotted her helmet on a small table near the sofa and walked over to grab it. This whole detour was a smashing little waste of time, in her opinion, but if nothing else it may go a ways in warming up to McCloud – willingness to follow orders, or some such nonsense.

"Ma'am, I've lost all internal surveillance on the bridge, as well as on decks one and two," Sig said, sounding as dispassionate as ever.

"What? How?" she angrily asked, grabbing her helmet off the table and running back out into the passageway as she pulled in on.

"A hard cut. I have lost visual on McCloud, but his last known location was deck two, near an area designated for security and weapons storage."

"And where are the intruders?" Fay asked as she ran back the way she came.

"Before surveillance was cut, they were working their way down through the damaged areas of the bridge. I have sealed all possible access points to deck one, but interior doors and emergency airlocks are not strongly reinforced."

She pressed the call button on her wrist unit and selected Fox. They'd linked their units for communication a few hours ago, just in case.

"Fox," she said, speaking through the systems in her helmet, which was now connected with the rest of the suit, "We have a few problems. I think we should regroup."

There was no answer.

"Fox?" she uneasily called out again, "Fox, are you reading me?"

Why wasn't he answering? She knew he had his wrist unit, she'd seen him put it on! She came to a stop at the place where they'd parted ways just outside the maintenance room and tried to remember which way he'd gone, then shook her head in frustration and said, "Sig, get me to where Fox is now!"

Something wasn't right. Now that she had her helmet, Sig was able to display her route on a digital map of the ship as she ran. How had they cut surveillance systems from outside the ship? Could they have done it from somewhere on the bridge? That certainly didn't seem likely, but how else could they have done it? Someone already inside the ship, maybe? But if that were the case, then how did Sig not notice?

Sig lead her to an emergency ladder well and she practically flew up the rungs, her suit propelling her upward until she emerged on Deck 2.

"This is the way Fox went, right?" she asked aloud.

"McCloud is not wearing a vac-suit, and this is the only uncompromised route to deck two. He took this passage to the security area six doors to your right, but I lost visual and internal tracking shortly after."

If there _was_ someone else in the ship, then it was possible he'd gotten the jump on Fox. He was tired, possibly tired enough to let his guard down…

She found herself sprinting down the hall, counting the doors as she went, skidded to a halt at the sixth one, and, finding it secured and demanding a pass code on a pad beside it, had Sig open it for her remotely while she drew her blaster. When the door unlocked she practically leapt inside, eyes darting left and right in search of Fox's possibly unconscious form-

-but found nothing. She re-holstered her weapon and looked around. There weren't even signs of a struggle. A large, blacked out vid screen covered much of the far wall with a large security terminal beneath it, and to the left and right were rows of weapon racks housing all manner of firearms, munitions, and various other bits of very militaristic-looking equipment, all neat, orderly, and completely undisturbed.

No sign of Fox. He'd been in here to get a weapon when they lost visual…

Something occurred to her just then, something she didn't like. Fox had been in here with the security system.

"Sig," she asked, "did you see anyone enter this room before Fox?"

"No ma'am," came the inevitable answer. How could they have? Sig had complete control of the Great Fox and all its remaining systems. Whoever had cut the feed hadn't even made an attempt to gain control of the security systems, as if all they wanted to do was blind her A.I. But why would anyone do that unless they knew about Sig to begin with?

She shook her head. She was getting ahead of herself. The intruders had made an attempt to hack the exterior hatch, so they could have learned about Sig when he in turn tried to counter hack. Still…where was Fox?

Her stomach sank a little as she made her way over to the security terminal, looking it over for any sign of tampering. On the surface, everything seemed fine, but when she bent down to look underneath, she could see a panel hanging open. Looking up into the opening she could see a cord of severed wires and a broken module of some kind. An analysis of the damage appeared on the heads up display in her helmet, most of which she didn't understand, save the overall condition of 'IRREPAIRABLE-REPALCE MODULE'.

She looked around the room for any sign of a duct or maintenance hatch that someone might have gotten in from, but didn't see anything unusual…other than the fact that there were no cameras in here.

A tiny spark of anger began to build as she asked, "Are there any possible ways into this room, other than the door?"

"No ma'am," was Sig's curt reply, "the ship's schematics show no additional entry points."

Her hands balled into fists as she marched back into the passageway, boots hammering angrily at the deck as she went. There was only one explanation she could come up with at this point, and it had better not be true.

"Get me to the airlock where our guests tried to dock," she ordered to her A.I.

He answered in the affirmative and displayed the course on her visor as she broke into a run. If what she thought was correct, then-

"Please wait, ma'am" Sig suddenly said, bringing her to a brief halt, "Airlock 12 has been manually opened, intruders are likely moving into Deck 1. Status of intruders on the ship's bridge is unknown, please proceed with caution."

"Manually opened…" Fay echoed, feeling her blood pressure rise.

She set off again at once, following Sig's map for a few minutes before she came to another ladder well, this one leading up to deck one. She cleared it in seconds, springing onto the upper deck and immediately breaking into a furious, indiscreet march toward Airlock 12, the sound of her boots striking the deck echoing down the hall as she went. Before long, she was able to make out voices, voices that quickly began to speak louder and faster as they likely heard her coming.

Just before she rounded the corner to where her display said Airlock 12 was, she activated her suit's personal shields, smoothly pulled her blaster from its holster, and strode, unhurriedly out into the open.

She wished she could say she was surprised by what she saw.

Five unsavory looking individuals of varying Lylation origin and ugliness, save one who was a fairly handsome female Venomonian, all stood holding an array of weapons. Three were trained on Fox, who stood in the center of the lot of them with his hands raised in apparent surrender, while two, both Cornarians – an older ape, or Hominian to be politically correct, and a young ferret – had their weapons pointed her way before she'd ever stepped out of cover.

"I thought you said you were alone!" the bearded old ape shouted back at Fox.

"Yeah, well, that was a lie," Fox answered evenly.

"She's got shields, Jake," the ape's ferret companion pointed out, eyeing Fay nervously down the sights of his rifle.

The ape, Jake, in turn stepped directly between Fay and any hope of a shot at the three around Fox, and said, "Listen here lady, you're looking equipped to do a great deal of hurt to me and mine, but if you try anything, I swear to you we'll riddle McCloud with holes before you can do a damn thing about it."

Her already tight fists clenched down even harder and her lip curled back in a snarl none of these people could see through her tinted visor. He was doing this on purpose! He'd put himself in this situation just so she couldn't stop them! Everything he'd said up until now had been a lie!

"Now, we aim to take your friend here alive," Jake went on, "Bounty on McCloud is getting pretty high, and we could all sure use the money, but we're salvagers by trade. We came here to scope out your ship, found us a bounty instead. But, even if we shoot McCloud here, by the looks of this wreck she'll still make a fine payday on her own once we hand Cornaria ol' Fox's corpse and this whole damn system calms the hell down. Follow?"

She lowered her blaster slowly. She couldn't be sure, but they looked ready to follow through with their threat.

She then turned to McCloud, hands still in the air with his head turned just enough to look back at her with one eye, just watching the situation unfold. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was using these idiots to get away, using _himself_ as leverage! Cunning, deceitful, sociopathic bloody idiot!

Fay took a deep breath in order to calm her temper enough to say, "Fine. He's not worth anything dead," and put her blaster back in its holster. She'd have to play along for now.

"Good," Jake said, nodding back to his companions. One of them nudged Fox with their rifle, and he and his three escorts started moving back toward the airlock while Jake stayed between them and Fay. He pulled out a wave phone and pressed the 'hail' button on the side, saying, "Vick, you got your team back in the ship yet?"

"Not yet boss," a voice answered, "we're just leaving the bridge, making our way back across the hull. Be a minute."

"Make it quick, we've got a problem down here," Jake said, then turned back to Fay as he and his ferret friend backed toward the airlock, "Alright, well, I'll tell you what: if you stay put and behave yourself, we'll let the authorities know where you are when we go to turn in McCloud so they can come and get you. We're not uncivilized folks, you know."

She didn't say a word as Fox disappeared into their ship, and as soon as the old ape and all his men passed the threshold of the airlock, he gave a cocky, two finger salute, boarded his vessel through the docking tube, and sealed the door behind him.

"You're letting them go, ma'am?" Sig asked as Fay turned and started walking back toward the ladder well.

"Not likely," she muttered, "get me to the nearest lifepod bay, and be ready to launch."

. . .

"Come on, pretty boy, keep it moving," the Venomonian salvager said, pushing Fox toward the back of the ship.

It was old mining frigate, retrofitted for scrap-work. You saw a lot of these illegal salvage operations working dead areas in Lylat. Depending where the system's planets were along their orbits, areas where major space battles had once been would find themselves outside the current trade lanes and ripe pickings for people like these. Ship wasn't armed, of course, and her crew probably only carried weapons to fend off other carrion eaters they might run into.

A short walk down a staircase brought them to the storage area of the ship, various rough-looking, sealed containers and a few loose parts scattered here and there with no real attempt at organization – might make for good cover under certain circumstances. His most recent captor lead him to the back where there was a handrail and secured his hands to it using a grimy chain and a thick padlock she picked up off the floor. While she was back there, he heard her whistle, but before he could let it go to his head, he felt her paw at his wrist unit, turning it and his forearm a few times before he heard a click and she pulled it free.

"Do you mind?" she asked with mock sweetness and only the faintest hint of an accent as she walked back in front of him, holding his wrist unit in her right hand, "I've always wanted one of these."

"Don't guess I have a choice," Fox answered with a smile, "Call it a gift if it'll get me a number."

That made her smile as she fixed the unit to her own arm. She really wasn't bad for a Venomonian, and, if anything, the grease smudges gave her a certain charm. Not that Fox was actually looking for anything, but, under the circumstances, a little flirting couldn't hurt.

"Sorry Vulpine," she answered, with only a hint of regret, "but I don't think they give phone calls where they'll be sending you. Besides, I like my men with a little more meat on their bones."

He resigned with a shrug and watched her go. Wasn't a bad view, and when she looked back as she topped the stairs, he gave her his best rouge-ish smile. She turned away too quick for him to see her smile back, but her tail did a little flick, she shook her head, and walked out of sight.

Damn waste.

Oh well, all Fox had to do was wait. An old junker like this probably didn't have the best warp drive in the world, so it'd take them hours to get to the nearest CDF taskforce, which was plenty of time to take care of these people and…go…somewhere.

The ship rocked a bit as it likely detached from the Great Fox, and a second rumble, accompanied by the growing hum of warming sub-warp engines, told him they were preparing to set out.

He frowned. He still needed to get to Zoness, but there was bound to be tightened security there since the CDF seemed to be attempting to blockade the entire system. They couldn't be everywhere at once though, and he had the I.D. code for Vacini's orbital warehouse on his wrist unit – which he would have to get back sooner or later.

He had time. He just had to wait, set up some sort of distraction, and get control of the ship.

A solid impact shook them again, and the Fox could hear people shouting toward the front of the ship.

The only words he could really make out were, "firing lifepods!"

. . .

Fay pulled herself through the now-empty tube one of the lifepods had just fired from, emerging on the outer hull of the Great Fox just below the salvager's ship as it drifted back from the Great Fox and began to turn for open space. Meanwhile the lifepods, under manual control of Sig, were zipping around and occasionally glancing off of their little frigate, causing an adequate distraction as she took aim with her wrist-mounted grappling line. Her suit targeted a spot on their hull, adjusted her arm for her, and when it gave tone, she fired, hurtling the anchor through the emptiness between the two ships. Mid-flight, tiny retro-thrusters mounted on the anchor gave micro-bursts to adjust its trajectory until it silently struck her target. She pulled hard to test the connection, then hit the button to real her in, simultaneously disengaging her gravlocks and propelling her across the void.

She made no attempt to decelerate, but, using the tension of the retracting cable, spun herself so her feet were 'down' toward the rapidly closing vessel. She landed with enough force to normally shatter a person's legs, sprung up without missing a beat, and made for a maintenance hatch her heads up display highlighted for her. When she reached it, she grabbed the access panel, dug her fingers into the sides so the metal twisted and bent around them, and tore off its faceplate, exposing circuitry as she flung the removed piece away.

"Suit Command: C-W-Touch Entry," she said aloud, activating a function of its cyber warfare systems.

Starting from the wrist of her right hand and working its way up the palm and to each fingertip, previously unseen microbuses glowed yellow. She pressed them onto the first piece of undamaged, exposed circuitry she could find, and after a few seconds, 'TEST: GOOD,' and 'ESTABLISHING CONNECTION' appeared on her visor. Moments later, she had control of the airlock.

"Sig, can you get in from here?" She asked.

"Yes ma'am," he answered, "I've already finished my earlier work on their firewalls, and am inserting a remote worm, please maintain manual connection for three more seconds…Done. These systems are grossly outdated, estimate thirty seconds until total control is established."

"Right," she answered as the maintenance hatch opened, "I'm going on ahead, cut the lights and disable the security systems, but send the camera feed to my HUD, I want to see where he's hiding."

"Rodger," Sig responded as Fay pulled herself through the hatch and into the ship. She switched to thermals on her visor just as the several images from the frigate's internal cameras appeared in the corner of her heads up display. In one of them, she spotted Fox, the rest showed where various crewmembers were. Now all she needed was for the lights to go out.

. . .

Fox rolled his shoulder back into an unnatural position, ignoring the pain as he turned his contorted hand back and forth, wriggling it painfully through the chain until, at last-

-the lights went out all at once. There was a hell of a lot of shouting, 'Jake' mostly, barking orders and someone switched on a flashlight and started waving it from here to there, obviously starting to panic. There was the tell-tale hiss of an interior airlock hatch, the light dated over to it, but found only an empty door. Then came a loud, electric crackle, a thud, and the flashlight hit the ground and rolled to a stop at the base of a wall.

It was like someone had fired a blaster over a herd of cattle. Footfalls rang out in all directions as people began to run. Blaster fire illuminated the darkness like lightning in a storm, and every so often Fox spotted a shadowy figure flitting quickly through the darkness. The crack of a stunner sounded again and again, each time followed by a dull thud, and each time the sounds of struggle grew quieter and quieter, until there was nothing but silence and the occasional pained groan.

Fox listened carefully and tried to look into the almost absolute blackness to see, but there was no light for his eyes to adjust to other than what came from that flashlight, which only barely shed anything his way.

"Lights," Fay's voice called out from directly in front of him.

The overhead lights all switch back on, and Fox found himself staring directly at Fay as she pulled off her helmet and tucked it under one arm. She gave her head a shake so her hair fell into place, then fixed him with a cold, silent stare.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his whole head snapped sideways as Fay brought her right hand across his face in a hard slap. There was so much force behind it that it stunned him for a moment before his cheek began to throb, and he turned his head back to look at her again, wondering if she remembered she was wearing that suit…

"That was for lying to me!" she said, firmly.

He thought about denying it, but gave it up, and instead said, "Fay, look-"

"What was the plan, hm?" she impatiently interrupted, "Where were you going to go in this bucket? What could you possibly hope to do on your own, with no money and a stolen _illegal_ salvage vessel?"

"Hadn't really worked all that out yet," he admitted, dispassionately.

"Then what HAD you 'worked out'?" Fay demanded, "because the only thing I can see you accomplishing here-"

"I had to get away from you."

Her jaw tensed and she turned away briefly before rounding on him again.

"I am _trying_ to help you!" she fumed, "Why won't you let me?"

"I don't know if you've noticed, Fay," Fox said, cold anger creeping into his own tone, "but the people who've been helping me lately have been dropping like flies. If you tag along with me on this, there's a good chance you're going to wind up dead, and I'm NOT going to be responsible for that!"

He almost said more, but bit his tongue.

"Oh, for God's sake!" Fay shouted in obvious frustration, "I'm not a child, Fox! I don't need you to protect me!"

Those words rang familiar.

_Fox, I'm not a child! Please…I don't need you to protect me! I just want-_

He shook it off, but before he could pick up his line of thought, she continued.

"What, do you think that if you leave me behind I'll be so crushed that I'll give up on the life I've chosen, go back home, and hide under my uncle's sickbed until he…"

Sadness quickly replaced her anger, and she looked away, completing the picture for Fox. He'd had this argument before. He wasn't just seeing Fay at that moment, he was seeing Krystal.

That sad look she'd had when she'd said, _You can't just send me away…_

"You can't just get rid of me like that!" Fay said, closing her eyes. When she opened them, her anger was back, "You and I made an agreement, and I, at least, intend to hold up my end. If I can't trust you to hold up yours, then I'll just have to force you to! Now get up, I know you're not really tied down."

Why didn't they ever just listen? He only wanted her to be safe.

He looked up at Fay, freed his bound hand with the one that was already loose, and stood up.

"What do you want from me?" he asked.

"I don't _want_ anything from you," she answered, wearily, "I just want to help you."

_I just want to stay with you._

"You need me," Fay said, softly, "whether or not you want to admit it, Fox. You're back is against a wall, and if you keep trying to go this alone, then whatever it is that's so important – so important that you're willing to go through all this – you're going to lose it."

He already knew that.

He knew he was running out of options, and he knew what she had to offer. He hated to admit it, but this escape had been an act of desperation, because he knew that if he didn't get away from her, he would have to chose between accepting her help and putting her in danger, or giving up on his father, turn himself in or try to disappear and hope to outrun Cornaria for the rest of his life.

If he gave up though, if he let this lie, then the trail he stumbled on might go cold forever, buried or lost in red tape and blood, and then he'd never know…

"Fine, Fay," he growled, "but you make one mistake, give me one reason to think you might not be up to this, I'll blow the whistle to _Uncle _Pepper so fast it'll make your head spin. Then we'll both be screwed..."

Fay eyed him carefully for moment, then asked, "And why should I believe you this time?"

"I'm not saying you should," he said, walking past her to go find that Venomonian and get his wrist unit back, "I'm going to tell you what I'm doing all this for, then you can decide that for yourself."


	28. Chapter 28

**Omni-science Relativity: Ansible Intelligence Network – O.R.A.I.N. – Orian**

…Loop.

…Loop.

…Loop.

Data. So MUCH data. Millions of subroutines, comprising tens of thousands of programs, making up hundreds of systems, all working in harmony to produce one…well, one whatever he was, and once again, Orian found himself drawn back to this one, little, looping program.

It was most certainly a part of himself. It had to be…or have been. He was at least certain it may have possibly BEEN a part of himself, whoever 'himself' had been all those millions of trips around the sun he'd spent on that old piece of ship, before he'd ended up on that little barren planet.

As far as he could remember, he'd always been curious of this little program. In the cacophonous, riotous chaos of perfect awareness of all that what was, essentially, him, the millions of tiny pieces of him that made his consciousness, this was the only program that served seemingly no purpose. Back when he was repairing himself, back when he'd first become aware of himself, he had discarded so much corrupted data. He remembered. It was like cutting away dead tissue. Like when Fox had been on the old ship before, and he'd had to cut into him…cut away the bad meat…

Easily a dozen times his current total file size, and he'd had to sort, separate, repair, delete…but not this little guy!

The question was, why? He'd never been able to bring himself to delete this broken program. For some strange reason, it just _felt_ important, and, besides that, he liked it! It had such a…a…oh, how should he put it? It just had such a sense of…MUCH-NESS about itself! It tried so hard to complete this one executable it was utterly stuck on, like it was the most important thing ever to have been programmed, and the universe itself would crash its celestial server if it didn't complete it! So very unlike most programs, just droning on about their business like…little…drones.

Incomprehensible stretches of time, and he still found watching this little program repeat its loop utterly fascinating. He would usually focus on it when he wanted to pass the time. Not that it was the only thing he was paying attention to. He currently had portions of his total processing power working away at identifying and assessing the 'new guys' – a large number of additional programs which had just _worked_ their way into his systems. Completely assimilated without so much as a "Hello, we just moved in and thought we'd introduce ourselves, since, you know, we're going to be a _part_ of you and everything."

Rude, that's what it was.

It really was the strangest thing though, actual _code_ being received from a marker signal. He had no record of another such incident in his memory files. He would know, he'd searched them thoroughly. Twice!

…He devoted a portion of idle processing to re-rechecking, just to prove a point…to…himself? Merciful SOURCECODE! He hated being alone with his own thoughts! He'd spent the last several millennia listening to it, and, frankly, it was just annoying! So there!

No, he didn't mean that. He knew he didn't mean that. What he MEANT, was he was annoyed at not having anyone else to talk to!

Still, he was a little hesitant to talk to Fox. He and Ms. Fay hadn't spoken since they returned to the Great Fox and sent those salvager people and their vessel on a ten-day scenic holding pattern around Solar. Ms. Fay's ship had shown up, and the two of them had a long talk. Well, actually, Fox talked while she listened. Orian listened along for the first bit as well, but once he made the scene in Fox's recounting, he lost interest, having been present for the rest.

He really didn't have anything new to tell him anyway, and he doubted Fox would be interested in idle conversation at the moment. Besides, Orian was still somewhat agitated about being all but called useless earlier. 'Only good for conversation'! It wasn't his fault the technology in this backwater corner of the galaxy was too crude for him to interact with!

The very thought made him wish he could blow out an exasperated breath!

He simulated what he thought an exasperated breath should sound like, then played it back to himself: "Pff!"

Honestly, who did this 'Sig' program think he was? If he had even HALF the complexity Orian had in just ONE of his own systems then…well…then he would be considerably more complex than he was now!

That was terrible, absolutely terrible.

After a moment brooding over the terrible inadequacy of the attempted insult, he devoted another portion of idle processing to devising better insults and went back to observing the looping program again.

…Loop.

…Loop.

…Loop.

As he settled he managed to remember what he'd been thinking about before. Over the many long years, he'd grown fond of the little program. He was like a little, dysfunctional compainion – a friend, or, well, more like a pet of sorts. Even named him.

Loopy.

Granted it wasn't a very clever name, but it seemed to him that it suited the program well enough.

He'd made attempts to repair it in the past, but without knowing what the program's directive was, all he'd been able to really do was attempt to find programs with similar portions of code, compare and contrast, attempt to assimilate, record results…never went well. Loopy didn't play well with the other kids. Ah well, even though he'd made little to no progress, just trying was somewhat entertaining. Like a puzzle.

And it passed the time.

That was the real trick. The more processing power Orian used, the faster he was thinking, and the faster he was thinking, the slower time seemed to pass. If he were to use, for example, ninety percent of his total processing power, then to him it would seem as though a single second were to last an hour. A minute would seem like days, and an hour like months. A day…well, suffice it to say when you're stuck alone with nothing but your own thoughts as company for a number of millennia, you want time to go by as quickly as possible. Focusing on Loopy allowed him to use an absolute minimum maintainable percentage of his processing power. Shut everything else out, and just watch.

…Loop.

…Loop.

…Loop.

"Orian."

…Loop.

"Orian?"

"…Loop."

"What?" Fox's voice asked.

"Hm…? Oh! Fox, yes, did you say something?" Orian answered, abashedly. By Fox's sensory input, they were in a small sleeping area of Fay's little gunboat. It was about ten feet by six feet with four stacked bunks, two built into the left and right walls respectively. Fox was laying on one of the bunks, staring at the ceiling.

This ship was very small compared to Fox's carrier. There was the cockpit, this sleeping area, a large central area with a sizeable holo-table, a communication room which also served as a gear storage area and a recharge station for Ms. Fay's suit, the engine room, and a small room with two containment cells near the rear of the ship.

"I was just calling you," Fox said, "Look, if Fay believed anything I told her, then she knows about you now, so it should be fine to talk from here on."

"You have no _idea_ what a relief that is!" he answered eagerly, shamelessly abandoning his grudge in favor of real conversation, "but you said 'if'. You think she may not believe you?"

Fox gave a short, ironic laugh, and said, "I just spent an hour babbling about conspiracy theories and million-year-old A.I.'s. I count myself lucky she hasn't fired us out an airlock yet."

"I'm sure she would only go as far as locking you in one of those containment cells," Orian reassured him, "Ms. Fay doesn't fit the psychological profile of one capable of killing in cold blood, and, being that you present so little a threat, there would really be no sense in killing you."

"…thanks."

"Glad I could be of service!" he said, "I only wish I could provide you with some sort of proof to help convince Ms. Fay that you're telling the truth."

"Could you just call her Fay?" Fox asked, sounding a bit agitated, "The 'Ms.' makes her seem, you know, _older_ than she actually is."

Orian was a little confused by that.

"She is an adult, isn't she? Of breeding age among your species?"

"Uh…well, yes and no," Fox said, his agitation increasing, "its…Lylat's kinda complicated."

"How so?" Orian pressed, his curiosity increasing in proportion to Fox's awkwardness, "Are you of a different species? Genetically incompatible?"

"Look, you'd have to take it up with Lucy. She's the geneticist, not me."

"I see…" Orian said, "Who is Lucy?"

"Peppy's daughter."

"Who is-?"

"An old friend."

"Ah…" Orian said, still left with several new areas of inquiry but realizing he wasn't likely to get any more information at the moment. _Organics_.

"Anyway," Fox continued, likely wanting to get back to his original line of thought, "We'll drop out of warp in about twenty minutes to make a detour through the Z-Nebula. It'll be about two hours from there to Zoness, provided Fay is still willing to help."

"And if she isn't?" Orian asked.

"Then we improvise," Fox said, a hint of hesitation in his voice, "To be honest, I kind of _hope_ she decides to cut and run, but I don't think she will."

"Hm," Orian mused, "you seem quite protective of this young woman. Is she someone important to you?"

Fox gave a short grunt and said, "I barely know her."

"Which makes your behavior all the more curious," he answered, finding himself enthralled by the curious complexity of organic behavior.

Fox was quiet for a long time, and Orian was about to try and prompt him to speak again when he finally said, "I just don't want anyone else dying for my mistakes."

"You're referring to your navigation robot?" Orian asked, "And that Aleksie fellow?"

"It wasn't just…" Fox began, then stopped, took a deep breath, shook his head and said, "Look, do me a favor and forget I mentioned it, alright? I'm just tired, and the quiet was getting to me."

That was something Orian understood.

"It can be unpleasant, sometimes," he said, "being left to one's thoughts…"

Fox gave a soft, half-hearted laugh, and said, "Yeah, I guess you'd know."

Yes. He knew very, very well.

_Who am I? What happened to me? Am I broken? Irreparable? Do I still serve a purpose?_ _The nework – Ansibles - _As he thought, he could feel the pull as more and more of his processing power began to contemplate more and more questions, chasing down unattainable answers until the world through Fox's eyes began to slow.

…Loop.

…Loop.

…Loop.

His focus found the little broken program again.

…Loop.

…Loop.

…Loop.

The questions faded away, the world outside returned to normal, and Orian collected himself as best he was able.

"Fox?" he asked after a moment.

"Hm?" his host answered.

"If…well, if you would ever like to just talk," Orian said, "about anything, really…I would very much enjoy the distraction."


	29. Chapter 29

Lucy Hare

It was pretty late. The clock on the counter beside the refrigerator glowed with the numbers 23:36 as Lucy rummaged for the quart of _celebratory_ ice cream she'd hidden away in the freezer, all the while wearing her _celebratory_ nitey and _celebratory _lingerie. The first treat was meant for her, the rest was supposed to be for Bill, but, unfortunately, he had been detained by 'something important' again, which, of course, he couldn't tell her anything about. Actually, 'detained' wasn't the best word for it. No, it was more like he was abducted! Right in the middle of the cocktail party, a couple of government types come in, military…probably her father's men…march straight up to Bill, and the next thing Lucy knew he was gone and she was getting a phone call from him saying _don't worry, nothing's wrong, _and, _I'll probably be back later tonight…_ This wasn't the first time this sort of thing had happened, and it wouldn't be the first time he was shipped off to God-knows-where on zero notice. She just wished she knew what he was always being spirited off for. She worried about him, especially with everything that had been going on lately.

"There we go," she said, pulling the one quart tub of strawberry ice cream free from its hiding place behind a bag of frozen veggies and the steaks Bill had been _planning_ on grilling up for the last two weeks. They'd probably get freezer burn soon, and then all they would be good for would be…stew, maybe?

Oh well. She grabbed a spoon from a nearby drawer and walked back to the living room where an image of herself was frozen on the televid. She was wearing her absolute best professional attire. Her ears were tied back neatly, and, because the recording was paused, her eyes were closed and mouth open halfway in the process of speaking. Honestly, she looked ridiculous…

She picked up the remote as she curled up on the couch with her ice cream to watch the rest of her recorded dissertation from earlier that afternoon. She'd decided to give it another scrutinizing go-over while she continued to wait for Bill to come home. She'd gotten nothing but positive feedback from her peers after her speech, but, personally, she had already counted a number of "um"s and had caught herself fidgeting with her ear again near the beginning, so she was feeling a little self-conscious as she pressed the play button.

"-throughout Corneria's own development, and while what was then considered 'inter-species' pairings between the various ethnicities of Corneria's major continents was frowned upon, in the years after the signing of the Treaty of the Manifest and the Cornerian Unification, such pairings became more and more common, particularly among the working classes. The taboos associated with the resulting children of these 'inter-species' pairings, such as birth defects, mental instability, and a number of other unfounded rumors, were all eventually disproven by statistical research, despite heavy resistance to such scientific ventures by 'Purist' groups common in the early years of the unification. As such groups eventually lost prominence, however, more and more data came to light, and the eventual large scale genetic mapping program that ensued came to prove that, genetically, all Cornarians were, in fact, of the same species. The fact that the distinctive outward physical differences by which our world had separated itself for so long were, in the end, almost entirely superficial resulted in a unity of Corneria that would not have been remotely possible even a few short decades before!

"Looking back, one might well think that this cultural experience would have positively affected our treatment of other Lylations in the future, namely the industrious people of Aquas as well as the deeply cultural Katinese and the nomadic tribes of the Avians discovered on Katina after the annexation of their worlds. Instead, however, their people were made the new focus of old cultural distrust and rumor mongering, and for several decades they were considered an _inferior species_ to Cornerians by many among the upper classes!"

_Idiots_, Lucy thought, rolling her eyes and taking a bite of ice cream as her recorded self paused for effect.

"Despite these initial setbacks, however (_damn…how many times had she said 'however' already?_), the scientific community again pursued the course of research! Facts! And despite the opposition of a number of government agencies in publishing their findings, it was through these efforts that investigations into the physical similarities between these _alien_ species and Cornerians that a second genetic mapping program was undertaken. I do not believe I exaggerate when I say that this time, the results shook Cornerian society to its foundations. Both the Katinese and Avian species discovered on Katina, as well as the Aquans were found to share the same genetic structure as each and every one of their Cornerian 'betters'. What had once been considered differences in species, we now see as the shockingly contrast polymorphism of the Lylation species as was made apparent by the discovery of the specierum pileus, the interchangeable genetic 'cap' on our X-chromosome which determines our outward appearances. Again, the preconceptions of differences in species were replaced by differences in what amounted to ethnicity.

She watched herself smile and shrug lightly, saying, "We're all _still_ trying to dig our way out of the pile of theories _that_ one brought on!"

Lucy smiled to herself as she watched. It was true. She hadn't been born yet when the research team behind the second gene map reported their findings, but the theories that sprouted up afterward had ranged from interference by an alien species to acts of God. Coupled with the discoveries of very similar, ancient technological marvels on Corneria, Titania, and Aquas, it had largely come to be believed that all Lylations shared a common ancestry to an ancient, space faring society. Still, that was something for historians and politicians to argue over.

Her ears perked up suddenly, and she hit the pause button on the remote at the soft sound of whirring levicoils pulling into the driveway. They soon wound down, and she heard the car door click shut and weary footfalls as they made their way toward the door. She smiled, got up and trotted quickly to the kitchen where she resealed her ice cream and crammed it back into the freezer. She then waited impatiently for the sound of the front door opening…

The footfalls stopped, but there was a long pause before she heard the keytones from the pad and the lock disengage on the door. The exterior doors on base housing were designed with security in mind, and they didn't spare much expense on the officer's houses, but the automated sliding doors lacked the rustic charm of a regular wooden door with a good old fashioned doorknob. Ah well, the fleet took good care of Bill, and she couldn't complain about something like that…out loud, anyway.

The door slid open, Bill sighed as he stepped inside, the door closing behind him, and Lucy walked out of the kitchen and into view.

The effect was better than she'd hoped for. Bill's decidedly handsome canine features changed from world-weary to excited in the blink of an eye, and the corner of his mouth curled into pleasantly surprised, if somewhat speechless grin. They'd been together for three years now, and engaged for about four months. Not to mention they'd been friends since they were children. It was a decidedly good sign that she could still inspire this sort of awe after all that time together.

"Wha…" Bill attempted, looking as dashing as ever in his full dress uniform.

"Just though we should celebrate," she said, walking daintily over with her hands folded behind her and her eyes cast elsewhere. She looked up at him when she was close enough to feel him breathing and planted a light kiss on his smiling lips.

His smile got bigger before he shook his head and finally wrapped his arms around her. They held the embrace for a moment, enjoying each other's warmth, and just when his hands started to wander…he stopped.

She looked up at him, searchingly as he eyes drooped again, sadly.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"They're sending me to Katina," he answered, a clear pang of regret coloring his tone.

She groaned inwardly and buried her head in his chest, letting out a soft breath before asking for an answer she was sure she didn't want to hear, "When?"

"As soon as I'm packed."

"Damn it," she cursed, pulling back and turning away, "we were supposed to have the weekend to ourselves!"

"I know," Bill said, stepping up behind her and pulling her back in with his arms around her waist, "I'm sorry, Lu, but the way things are, it was just a matter of time. To be honest, I'm just grateful I got to be there for you today."

"Yeah," she said, resignedly, as she leaned back into him, "me too."

They stood there quietly for while before Lucy spoke up, her thoughts having wandered, to say, "Do you remember when we were all kids?"

"Yeah," Bill said with a half-hearted chuckle, "You had a little crush on Fox back then."

"Did not!" she objected, playfully jabbing at his side with her elbow.

He let her go and pretended it had hurt, which made her smile as she turned to look at him.

"Back then…I just felt sorry for him. You know, because of his mom," she said.

Bill just shrugged.

"Yeah, but he never really was the type to be consoled," he said, "He was a tough kid. Ya gotta admire that kind of resolve, especially at that age."

"I don't know. I haven't really seen him since his dad's funeral…" Lucy said, "What happened to him? Why is he...? I mean, he starts all this, getting you sent half way across the system for God-knows-what. I don't even know if what you're doing is dangerous, or…"

She trailed off, but Bill picked up the slack, saying, "Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything stupid before we're married. I finally tricked you into saying yes, and we've sunk WAY too much money into the wedding already-"

"Really?" she said, grinning and shaking her head as she marched back over to the couch, "THAT's how you console your beautiful fiancé? '_I've spent THIS much on you, may as well stick around for a while!'_ "

Bill was grinning to as he followed her, saying, "Yeah, well, you know, I do what I can for my friends and family."

"Ass," she said, tossing herself down on the couch and pressing play on the remote.

Bill took off his blouse and undid his tie and the cuffs on his undershirt before sitting down on the far end of the couch with one arm on the armrest and the other stretched over the back.

"How many times have you watched this already?" he asked, knowingly, as her speech played on.

"Not that many," she said, dismissively.

"But more than once," Bill countered.

"Well, it may surprise you to know that not everyone is as laid back about what they do as the great William Gray."

"Perfectionist."

"Ass."

They were both smiling widely at that point, and Lucy leaned over to lay her head on Bill's lap while her televised self chattered on.

"…and it is with a great amount of pride that I have been selected to reveal the results of the Third Genetic Mapping Program tonight - launched in order to find answers to the many questions which have been raised in regard to the Vulpans, discovered on the distant, tiny planet of Papetune some fifty years ago. In the years since, though originally having little difficulty in integrating into Lylation society due to their similar appearance to the many canine ethnicities of Corneria, it has become apparent that these people cannot interbreed with any other ethnicity found in the Lylat system. We have since found that the Vulpan people do, in fact, lack the specierum pileus shared by all members of the Lylation species. Tonight, we are here to announce that, other than the inhabitants of the Saruian Isolation Zone, Vulpans are the first separate, sentient species ever discovered by and to enter into the Cornerian Federation."

A myriad of polite clapping followed, but it wasn't as if she had announced anything most people didn't already know. The gene mapping program had simply been a government funded boondoggle, meant to cement the fact in the people's minds. Still, it did have profound implications for the future, both scientifically and politically, and she was proud to have been a part of it.

When she looked up at Bill after a moment in thought, she found a distant look in his eyes as he sat, staring through the televid.

"Haven't seen him since after the war," he said, "We kinda drifted apart after he left the academy…Fox, I mean."

"I know," she said, reaching up and stroking his face so he looked down at her.

"He seemed like he was doing alright," he said, "last I saw of him."

"Don't worry," she said, comforting, "Daddy will do something. In the meantime, you have to leave as soon as you're packed, and I aim to delay that as long as possible."

Bill smiled and his eyes wandered across her body.

"How are you planning to do that?" he asked.

"I'll think of something."

She pulled him close and kissed him. Some time later the recording on the t.v. ended, and the two of them did their best to forget the world's problems…for a while, anyway.


	30. Chapter 30

Wolf

The room wasn't so much quiet as it was still. A few things were making noise, but none of them were people and none of it was grating on his nerves the way one particular, silent source of agitation was. There wasn't much Wolf had come across in his forty-some-odd years that could really get under his skin. He didn't think of himself as being particularly patient – when something got him riled, he tended to swing first, swing hard, and sort everything out later – but he took pretty much everything in stride.

A wooden bladed ceiling fan circled above his head as he leaned onto the back legs of his chair, feet propped up on the wooden entertainment center that housed the televid he was only sort-of paying attention to.

There were a few things he'd found, though, that managed to cut through his sweeping filter of indifference. One was someone having authority over him, being told what to do. Taking jobs was one thing. Whoever hired him _wasn't _his boss. He could drop a contract any damn time he pleased, and he didn't have to take shit from anyone, didn't matter how much money they were throwing around. Only way to have actual authority in Wolf's book was to earn it. If someone came along who could beat him, or at least bloody him up enough to get his attention, then maybe he'd take their opinion under advisement. But being told he has to lick somebody's boot on account of some imagined social totem pole? Made his trigger finger itch.

Another thing that made his skin crawl was kids. The younger they were the more it bothered him. Granted there wasn't much rationale to that one, but it was what it was. The worst thing though? The thing he couldn't stand worse than anything?

Uselessness.

It didn't matter how you packaged it. Change when change wasn't needed, or stubborn stupidity when it was. Useless things, pointless talk, and, most of all, worthless people – these were things Wolf had no patience for whatsoever.

And who the hell still used ceiling fans, anyway? This wasn't the ritziest place around, but a ceiling fan? The outdated thing just spun above his head, letting out a rhythmic sort of whine as it did. How old was this place?

Zoness wasn't a cold climate world by any man's definition. It had different climate regions, same as any sizable planet, but its rotation was pretty fast. A day was only about eighteen hours, and they were closer to the sun than Corneria. It had pretty thick ozone, but that just kept it habitable. The place stayed over eighty degrees year-round near the equator, and rarely got below seventy beyond that until you got close to the damn poles, and even there it never got below freezing. It was a tropical planet, no two ways about it. That meant loads of vacationing tourists, plenty of crop-growing on the bigger islands, and _heat_.

So, why was it that a hotel room on one of Lyalt's warmest planets still had a damn ceiling fan, when everywhere else had I.A.C. systems? Ionic air circulation. He'd had it in his house when he was a kid, and they lived in the damn slums!

He shook off his irritation. Something this small wouldn't bother him, normally. He didn't really give two shits how they moved air around the room. It was another, equally whiney object that was actually getting to him, and Wolf was starting to wonder if it would really be a bad thing if he were to leave it broken in the dumpster outside when they were done here.

"How long can it take to find a two-hundred pound Lizard on a resort full of rich Cornerians?" the goddamned object in question piped up for the third time in the last ten minutes.

He pulled in a long breath and let it out nice and slow.

"I'm getting tired of telling you to shut up, Panther," Wolf said, "Now pipe down so I can hear the TV."

"It's the weather report," Panther answered, "and you're not even watching it. All I'm saying is that we haven't heard anything from Leon in four hours! I'm sick of doing nothing!"

Wolf eyed his 'teammate' long enough for the vein above his temple to stop throbbing before looking back to the TV and saying, "If you're tired of sitting around, then why don't you get out, do some leg work?"

"And just how am I supposed help Leon with the _leg work_ if we don't know where he is? We haven't heard from him since he left this morning," Panther grumbled, snidely.

That was normal for Leon. He was the best damn hunter in Lylat, bar none, but he did his tracking alone. He'd shoot them a wave when he had his target, or if he found it and needed help bringing it in, but it wasn't uncommon not to hear a word from him until he showed up back at base with a body in tow. Frankly, Wolf didn't care how he did what he did. As long as his men followed orders and got the job done, they'd have a place on his team. However…

"I didn't say help Leon," Wolf answered, "Unless he says otherwise, Powalski's got the tracking part of this job covered. Last thing I want is you getting in his way."

"Then what is it, exactly, that you want me to do?" Panther asked, the lack of respect in his tone working away at Wolf's last nerve.

"You're gonna walk out of this room, Caroso," He said, flatly, "After that I don't give a damn. Just be back when I call for you."

There was a moment of silent loathing before he heard Panther stand then march out of the room, the door slamming as he made his exit.

He was becoming a problem. Ever since he and his girl had started having troubles he'd been getting harder and harder to deal with. Wolf had hoped he'd find his head now that she was gone, but it just seemed to have made him worse.

"Fuckin' drama queen," he muttered to himself, looking back at the TV. It was just the weather report. Supposed to rain later in the week.

. . .

About a day and a half of tracking had brought Leon to an area of town called Abbot's Way. It was a busy street that lead to the beach and the big docks where all the luxury liners came to port. It looked like it was prime real-estate for business owners, too. A lot of fancy restaurants, expensive hotels, and up-scale bars, mostly, crowding the street wall-to-wall to use up as much of it as possible.

His target, who'd proven more difficult to track down than Leon expected, was now walking about thirty feet in front of him, comfortably within the effective range of Leon's sidearm, but far enough ahead that he shouldn't have to worry about being noticed. For all his efforts, he'd finally found the guy, and there he'd been, waltzing around a ritzy neighborhood in a bright red, flowery circus tent of an aloha shirt and a straw sun hat.

This was supposed to be Aleksie Vadikov? This was the man Leon had grown up hearing stories about?

He frowned as he appraised the man from a distance. He didn't look like much. There was no mistaking it, though: this was his target. He was the only Venomonian on this island other than Leon, and his prosthetic right hand and left leg, size, and appearance all fit the bill, and now that he'd found him, he needed to approach the target without spooking him.

Normally, at this stage of the game Leon would be observing his target from a distance: making note of daily routs, routines, places of interest, where he slept, where he ate, how long he usually spent in each place, who he talked to. The more information he had on his target's daily activity, the easier it was to identify and plan the best moment to strike.

In this case, however, he was just tracking, not hunting. Wolf said they needed to talk to this guy, get information out of him. In most cases, capturing the target and…_extracting_ the required info would be the best way to go about it, if anyone asked him, but this time around Leon had actually been the one to suggest sitting down and talking to Vadikov. By his reputation, this man was supposed to be a steel trap of an information trafficker; nothing left his lips that he didn't intend to. To hear the old tribals back home tell it, he was the biggest, toughest, most fire hardened war leader Mother Venom had ever spat out, before he left Venom, that is.

Leon's eyes went back to the man's red, floral shirt and his frown deepened. That _was_ a long time ago, though. Maybe it would be easier to just bring him in…Then again, transporting the big guy would be an obvious issue, come to that.

The streets were getting busier as they got closer to the up-scale businesses. Vadikov stopped at an intersection up ahead with a pedestrian crossing signal that was just starting to blink to indicate that people shouldn't cross. Once it solidified, the light would change to allow vehicles on the street to move, so everyone began to bunch together to wait on the next opportunity to cross. Leon used this an a chance to get a closer look at his target without drawing his attention, being sure to stay out of his direct line of sight as he moved in with the press of people.

Just as the blinking hologram changed, but before Leon could reach an optimal distance, Vadikov suddenly marched out into the crosswalk and across the street as several perturbed drivers blared their disapproval with their horns. He almost went to follow, but he realized that meant he'd have to leave the crowd and walk out in front of the vehicles on the street like Aleksie had just done, making him stick out like a sore thumb.

"Shit," Leon cursed under his breath as levicars started to speed between himself and his target. That was a textbook move…maybe he hadn't overestimated-

Before he could finish the thought he noticed Vadikov across the street. He just stood there, back still turned to Leon as he stretched idly, then reached back and patted the small of his back like it was bothering him, adjusted his ridiculous sun hat…

"Son of a bitch is taunting me…" he growled to himself, an admiring grin playing at the corners of his mouth despite his agitation.

After a moment or two, Aleksie got moving again, strolling along with an unhurried gate until he passed in front of a fancy-looking bar-

-A big levitruck rushed into Leon's line of sight, and he tensed, hand going to his sidearm as he made ready to rush across the street if necessary-

-the truck passed, and Leon looked to where Vadikov had been to find…that he was still there. The huge man scratched the scales on the back of his neck, shrugged, and strolled into the bar.

The traffic on the street thinned enough for Leon to cross, and he did so, giving up the pretense that his target wasn't aware of him. He jogged across, slowed to a walk on the other side, and made his way over to the bar Aleksie had gone into.

Wasn't hard to find him, all Leon had to do was follow the stares. Vadikov sat in a corner booth, having made sure his back wasn't to any windows or entrances. He had pushed the table out to accommodate his girth, and sat like a king awaiting his next subject, taking up the entire bench seat on his own. He acknowledged Leon with a tilt of his head, pointed to the bar and said, "[Boy, you should go to the bar and bring us back drinks if we are going to have a proper conversation,]" in Venomski. It had been years since he'd heard his people's language.

Leon shot the man a respectful, toothy grin, made his way over to the bar to find that two drinks were already waiting, and carried them over to Aleksie's table.

"[You are as good as they say you were,]" he said as he set the two chilled glasses on the table and sat himself down in a chair across from Vadikov, "[When did you first notice my eyes were on you?]"

"Ugh," Aleksie grunted with a scowl, "[Your words have such a terrible accent! What have we come to that our tribesmen speak that Cornerian dog-tongue better than their own Venomski? You're sire should drink his weight in borsk to hide from the shame! Ah, but I am being rude, you asked a question of me. To answer, I noticed you what was maybe twenty minutes ago in the reflections of car windshields. You have good eyes. It does this old man's heart good to see some of us still hunt. Tell me, have you come to me alone, or with others?]"

"[With others,]" Leon answered truthfully, picking up his drink and taking a sip before adding, "[but they are not currently with me. I've stalked with one who is called O'Donnell for many years now. He leads well. I tracked you for him, because he wishes to trade words with you. Will you see him, Grandfather? May I call him here?]"

The term 'grandfather' in the old tongue was used as a show of respect for one's elders, not just to refer to one's father's father. Leon wasn't usually one for formalities, but he was talking to something of a living legend, and it wasn't like anyone else could understand them.

"O'Donnell?" Aleksie said, nodding to himself and downing his drink in one swallow, "[Yes, I know of this man. To me, this says that you must be Powalski of Star Wolf, no? You are well mannered for someone from your time. Most seem to be forgetting the old ways…Yes, I will trade words with O'Donnell. Send for him to meet with us here. In the meantime, be kind to an old man and buy me another drink.]"

. . .

Wolf's phone buzzed in his vest pocket, and he pulled it out to see who it was. When he saw it was Leon, he answered saying, "I guess this means we're coming to you."

"You got it," Leon came back, "Me and the target are having a drink in a bar called Bram's off of Abbots Way. It's near the beach, about twenty minutes if you're going by foot."

"Can you keep him there that long?" Wolf asked, unsure of the situation.

"Shouldn't be a problem, if he wanted to bolt, he would've done it already," Leon said, "not like he didn't have the chance too."

"You had trouble finding him?" Wolf asked, sternly, "I thought you said this guy would be rusty."

He heard Leon snort a laugh before saying, "You know, I think he _is_ rusty. Not a pleasant thought. Anyway, he's already agreed to talk to you, so kick Panther in the ass and I'll see you when you get...oh shit…"

Wolf leaned forward in his chair and frowned.

"What happened?" he asked, not liking the change in Leon's tone.

"Uh, yeah…might want to rethink bringing Panther, boss-man. We've got company."

"Why? Is it CDF? Straight answers Powalski."

"It's…Krystal…"

. . .

Aleksie turned to see what had caused his new friend to look so surprised, and found himself locking eyes with a very beautiful Vulpan woman. The fur that covered her in place of skin or scale was a pleasing shade of blue and her features were accented by bits of white. The blue certainly paid good compliment to her beauty, but he found it strange. That coloration did not normally occur in the canine Lylations, as he understood it, meaning she would have had to inherit it from either an Aquan or Avain parent…but Vulpans were not supposed to be able to breed with other Lylations.

Ah well, beauty was beauty, and he was getting too old to be looking gift horses in the mouth. She seemed interested in him, she was lovely, that was good enough. Besides, he was retired from the information game. He agreed to meet with O'Donnell only to tell him so, and offer what may be interpreted as harmless information. After all, he would hate to ruin his plans of peacefully living out his days here by angering the parties that were allowing it.

"[Friend of yours?]" he asked his friend, Powalski in the comfort of their native tongue.

He was surprised when the Vulpan girl answered instead, saying in Cornarian, "I wouldn't call us friends, but we've worked together in the past."

Aleksie barked a laugh and slapped at his prosperous stomach.

"[You understand me?]" he said, pleased to be spared from speaking in 'dog'. Though he wondered why she did not answer in Venomski if she knew it. But then, he was sure she meant no offence. Perhaps she could only understand and not speak so well. He was much like that when he first left Venom as a young man.

"[Be careful, Grandfather]," young Leon said, the warning in his tone unmistakable, "[She is a mind reader. Guard your secrets well.]"

He gave his younger friend a serious look to be sure he wasn't joking then nodded with a grunt. He had seen many things in his years, and he knew much more from documents and whispered secrets. Mind readers had long since left the domain of old wives tales for this old man, and there were many things Aleksie kept in his mind that he could not afford to let slip.

"You don't have to worry," the woman assured, "I can only read surface thoughts. I can't hear anything you don't want me to, assuming you have at least some measure of self control."

He looked to Leon for confirmation, but the man kept his narrowed eyes on the girl as he said, "[She can go deeper when it pleases her, but it takes much effort, and you could feel her scratching at your thoughts if she did.]"

Now it was the girl's turn to look suspicious.

"I don't remember telling you that, Powalski," she said, guardedly.

"Panther's a talkative drunk" his drinking partner answered her, snidely in Cornerian, "Now, how about you explain why you decided to turn up here, now? Or maybe you'd like to explain to Wolf when he gets here. No skin off my nose, either way."

By the way young Leon's right shoulder shifted, Aleksie was able to assume he had placed his hand on his weapon while he spoke, but he didn't care. He picked up his fresh drink and sipped at it leisurely. Whatever the disagreement was between these two, it was no business of his. When they were done, he would continue his conversation, meet with O'Donnell, and then maybe go home in time to watch the sun set over the ocean. He'd more than earned a peaceful old age. Back in the old days, before the world had changed, a man of his age, with his accomplishments would have been a lauded tribe elder. He would spend his days teaching the young ones, his evenings drinking, and his nights with many women in his bed…but those were the old days. Now he was content just to live an easy life on a pleasant world. No worries. No intrigue...and NO explosions!

Aleksie's attention returned to his two guests, who's voices were becoming angrier by the second.

"I don't care what you do," Leon said to the Vulpan girl, his voice not so much loud as it was acidic, "and I don't care what happened between you and Caroso, but Wolf doesn't like it when his subordinates just up and leave without a word. That kind of thing makes people like us twitchy. Would probably be best for everyone if you were gone before he gets here."

The girl rolled her eyes.

"O'Donnell doesn't frighten me the way he obviously does you," she said, "and I'm here to talk to _him._"

She gestured to Aleksie as she finished speaking, so he smiled politely and almost spoke before Leon beat him to the punch, saying, "That's what's bothering me most, sweetheart."

Leon's blaster left its holster and he set it on the table in front of him, the barrel pointed toward the Vulpan.

"You ain't talkin' to anybody before Wolf gets here."

"Is there a problem here, Krys?" another, distinctly feminine voice brought Aleksie's attention toward the entrance.

This time it was a Katinese girl, also very attractive. Her fur was a light pink shade, but that wasn't unusual. Katinese and Avians shared a world, so mixed offspring were fairly common compared to other Lylations. She walked in confidently, and had a vibrant air about her that made him smile to himself. Had she come to call on Aleksie as well?

Leon squinted at the new arrival for a moment before his face soured even more.

"I know you," he said, dispassionately, "You fly with Lombardi."

He then looked back to the Vulpan with a venomous smile and said, "So, you ran off to help that idiot find your old boyfriend, eh? I figured it was something like that."

"Don't be an ass," the Vulpan, whose name was Krys, if Aleksie had heard correctly, shot back.

Leon's smile widened in a less than friendly flash of teeth before he asked, "Will Falco be coming too? He poached my contract not long ago, and I wouldn't mind having a word on that."

The Katinese stepped forward with an easy smile that belied a cold look in her eyes as she looked first at Aleksie, then Leon, then Leon's blaster.

"Leon Powalski, right?" she said in a friendly tone, "You're part of Star Wolf. You guys have business on Zoness too?"

Leon scowled at her attempt to diffuse the situation, picked up his glass and said, "I'm just having a drink with my friend here," apparently referring to Aleksie, "now why don't the both of you shuffle on so we can get back to it."

"Your friend," the Katinese said, ignoring the second half of Leon's remark, "wouldn't happen to be Mr. Aleksie Vadikov, would he?"

She briefly looked to Krys for confirmation, who then nodded, before she smiled brightly and said, "I think we might be here for the same reason. Why don't we see if we all can't-?"

Before she could finish the thought, several horns blared outside and the sound of a rapidly decelerating levicraft came frighteningly close to the entrance, followed by someone shouting "Hey, you can't park there!"

A few short seconds later the door of the bar was thrown inward as if by a hurricane wind. In this case, the storm's name was Wolf. Aleksie had done business with the man, and others had paid him for information on O'Donnell back when he was a wanted man, so they were familiar with one another. He marched toward them like a man squaring off for a fight, moved past the women like they weren't even there, and then gave Leon a meaningful stare as he tilted his head toward Aleksie.

As if he'd been given an order, Leon nodded, stood, and re-holstered his blaster.

"Wolf-" Krys started, breaking the heavy silence.

"What are you doing here?" O'Donnell asked, eyes locking on the Vulpan girl with both suspicion and anger, "You want to go running off after your old lover, fine, Star Wolf's got no place for a fool can't handle her own hormones-"

The Vulpan's blue-green eyes seemed to darken, and a wrinkle formed on her nose with just the slightest show of a canine tooth before Wolf continued.

"-but we're here on business, you're not part of this team anymore, and I don't like when and where you suddenly decided to turn up."

"Told you," Leon chided, positioning himself between Aleksie and the two girls.

This entire situation was quickly beginning to spiral out of control. Aleksie only wanted to have a quiet conversation to explain that he was no longer in the business of trading information. It had been uncomfortable since Leon and the Vulpan began to argue, and since O'Donnell had appeared, the tension had gone from heavy to crushing.

"Please be excusing me," Aleksie said, aloud and in Cornerian so everyone could understand, "I am going to get another drink, and then maybe I will be leaving."

He stood with a grunt and walked toward the bar, but before he reached it, he heard Wolf say to Leon, "Buy the man his drink and make sure he doesn't go anywhere. We've still got business with him."

Aleksie scowled, but decided to let it go for now. He didn't want to make things worse, so when his tribesman met him just as he reached to bar, and respectfully gestured for him to sit first, he did so. Leon then signaled the barman for a drink, put the money down, and sat down beside him, saying, "[Apologies, Grandfather, he doesn't know the old customs and means no disrespect.]"

He just waved off the young man's apologies and picked up his glass as soon as the barman finished pouring, turning to keep one eye on the situation as it unfolded.

"Krystal is here with us," the Katinese girl said, calmly coming to her friend's defense, "and we're here with the fleet. Now, I figure you're here on the CDF's coin, right? That means we're probably after the same thing…"

Wolf didn't say a thing, but judging by the ever-so-subtle change Aleksie could see in his posture, he relaxed just a little.

"Peppy sent you," O'Donnell said, still sounding suspicious, but somewhat less hostile, "I doubt we're after the same thing in the long run if that's the case…Still, the CDF wants information from our friend here. They want it confidential, but they _don't_ want him. Follow?"

Aleksie stopped mid sip and set his drink down, staring somberly into it. Wolf was lying. The CDF wanted nothing from him. One of the Council's agents had already spoken with Aleksie, and had made his situation VERY clear. He gave them the information they asked for, and he was allowed to retire here, provided he behaved. The CDF knew better than to cross trails with the Agency…so then, if O'Donnell was not truly here with the CDF, then who sent him?

The Katinese nodded understandingly and said, "So we let you talk to Aleksie in private, you get your information, then we talk to him when you're done. That about the size of it?"

Wolf answered with a nod, and the Katinese girl almost seemed satisfied, but a significant look from the Vulpan made her pause, then ask, "Any special reason we should trust you? Krystal seems to think you're lying about something…"

The tension built. Leon's hand went to his blaster, but he didn't make a move other than that. Like Aleksie, he just sat ready and watched carefully…a good hunter, this one.

Wolf was about to speak when the door flew open once again. This time it was another Katinese that came barging in. He was tall, well build for his people, and dark-furred with a scar on his right cheek.

"Wolf!" the man boomed, "I know you're in here, damn it! Why didn't you-"

He stopped mid sentence as his eyes found the Vulpan girl and his anger turned to surprise.

"Krystal?" he said, bewildered, "How did you know…did Bowman contact you too?"

"Who?" the girl answered, confused.

"Dash Bowman?" the Katinese girl cut in, eyes narrowing on Wolf, "so, not here with the CDF after all, huh O'Donnell?"

Wolf gave the newcomer a look that made Leon pale in his seat beside Aleksie, and the tall man's mouth clicked shut.

"Me and you are gonna have words after this Caroso," was all Wolf said before looking back to the women to say, "Blockades are putting a lot of hurt on Venom. The Governor hired us to look into this mess discretely, since he's got no way of handling it himself without giving Corneria cause for alarm. We're just here to do a job."

The girl, Krystal, looked like she was about to object, but Wolf gave her pause by placing a hand on his blaster, and capitalized on her hesitation by continuing with, "I'm not telling you everything, and I don't plan to. Situation hasn't changed. We're gonna to talk to Aleksie, then we're gonna be on our way. Now how do you wanna play this?"

There was a long silence as Wolf and the Katinese girl stared each other down. Leon sat ready for a fight, and the man with the big mouth stood to the side looking torn.

"Bowman is a good man," Krystal eased, breaking the silence, "I've dealt with him before, Katt. He wouldn't have hired Wolf to go after Fox."

She looked at Wolf, then her friend, then the Katinese man, then said, "If we all just calm down, we can still work this out…"

"So he's telling the truth this time?" the girl whose name was Katt asked.

After a quick glance at the man called Caroso, Krystal quietly said, "Not quite. He still isn't being completely honest."

"Krystal!" Caroso hissed, "What are you doing?"

At this it was Leon who rolled his eyes and said, "She ain't here with us, Panther. She's here with a bunch of McCloud's friends. She ran off to find _him. _Haven't you got that yet?"

A pained expression crossed the tall man's face as he looked to Krystal, searchingly. She didn't return his stare, but kept her eyes forward instead.

Aleksie emptied his glass and waved off Leon's offer to buy him another. He didn't want too much alcohol fogging his mind should he need to think lucidly in the immediate future. If the shots began to fly, then he would need to move fast to find enough cover for his large frame.

There was still a chance for this whole situation to end peacefully, but the thing about such chaos was this: like fire, so long as it had fuel, it would grow, and the more it grew, the harder it would be to keep it from running its course.

As Aleksie sat staring thoughtfully into his glass, the ice in his glass slowly melting into small pool of cool water from the heat of his hand, a pair of voices drifted in from outside as they came closer to the door, joining those of the people already arguing behind him, who he was no longer paying attention to.

In this situation, there was no fire yet, but there was plenty of fuel. The whole thing was like a big powder keg, all it would take would be a few wrong words, a sudden move, any kind of spark and…

"B-but, Katt said to watch the back! Falco!" a voice squeaked, making Aleksie look to the door.

"I'm just goin' in for a drink, get off my back!" a man who Aleksie instantly identified as Falco Lombardi said as he strolled into the bar with his hands in his pockets.

Falco looked up. He saw Wolf. Leon saw Falco. And in the blink of an eye, Falco's blasters left their holsters.

"Boom."

Everyone's blasters slid free, there was shouting, bar patrons were yelling and diving for cover, and the barman man was behind the bar trying to contact the authorities over the noise. The girl, Katt, and O'Donnell were yelling at their people, trying to stop fire with fire. Gradually, the blasters went back into their holsters, but the shouting grew worse, some patrons joining in now that the guns were lowered. In the confusion, Leon has slipped away from his seat next to Aleksie, and it took him a moment to spot the man moving through the pandemonium, closing in on Lombardi. The Aquan who had come in with Falco, seemingly in the process of waving his arms in panic and/or confusion, slipped and struck a large patron in the groin on his way down.

It was a matter of seconds before fists, chairs, bottles, and everything else not tied down began to fly around the bar. Glass broke, people yelled…and Aleksie sat at the bar with his glass of nothing but rapidly melting ice. Was this fair? Must everything around him turn out like this? All he wanted was a nice…easy…retirem-

His train of thought was brought to a crashing to a halt as something shattered against the back of his head, its warm liquid contents running down his back and soaking into his shirt.

"…Okay," he said, getting to his feet and rising to his full height. Some people around him stopped dead in their tracks as he whirled around, grabbed the two closest people he could by their shirts and lifted them off the ground, thundering at the top of his lungs, "I AM SUPPOSED TO BE RETIRED!"

. . .

Wolf sat on one of the few remaining barstools amid the ruins of what had been a pretty up-scale establishment not long before. He leaned forward onto the bar with a half empty bottle of some liquor he couldn't name and poured himself another glass. The brawl hadn't lasted long after Vadikov threw his weight in…been a while since he's seen people fly through the air like that. Might have even thought it was funny given better circumstances. As things were, Aleksie was gone, along with Krystal and all her people, and he had Leon out tracking them. How something that big could disappear that fast was beyond him, but it was what it was.

The local authorities had come by, but it was just some small town badge, an old fart with a scrawny young kid to back him up. Between the two of them they might have amounted to one man-sized coward, probably never had anything worse than shoplifters their whole lives. After a short discussion about where they could shove their citation, Wolf cut a deal with the bar's owner to have any charges dropped. All-in-all it came out to about twenty thousand that Wolf would be taking onto Governor Bowman's bill. Call it 'operational expenses'.

Panther was still unconscious, leaned back into a sitting position against the bar near Wolf's left foot, and other than him, Wolf was alone. When it had become apparent that Krystal had left sometime during the fighting, Panther went to go out looking for her. Wolf had other plans for Caroso, though, so before he'd made it out the door he'd treated the back of Panther's head to the butt of his pistol. He wasn't going anywhere before the two of them had a talk.

He sat there, drinking and going over every detail of the botched operation he'd just had the misfortune of being a part of in his head for a while before he heard Panther groan and stir.

"What…" Caroso said, leaning forward and rubbing at his head, "What happened?"

"You _fell_," Wolf growled.

Panther's eyes widened and he got to his feet. He looked around and said, "Krystal! I was going to go after her…where is she?"

"Sit down, Caroso," Wolf ordered.

The threat in his tone made Panther turn to look, and he quickly noticed Wolf's blaster as it sat on top of the bar. The next thing he seemed to notice was that his own gun was gone. He picked up a toppled stool without saying a word, righted it, and sat down a comfortable distance away from Wolf.

"I never liked you, Panther," Wolf stated, taking a swallow from his glass, "First off you're a damn fop, you spend money like you got to money to burn, and you've got a big fuckin' mouth."

Panther opened his mouth to speak, but then apparently thought better of it, biting his tongue with a bitter scowl.

"Now, when I decide to pay a man, I weigh his strengths against all the shit that pisses me off. The reason I hired you, and the reason I've put up with you this long is because, up to this point, I figured you were worth the expense," Wolf drove on, "You're a good pilot, good fighter, know you're way around a healthy number of weapon's platforms, and until recently you followed orders. You were reliable and adaptable more than anything.

"I can put up with a lot of shit, Panther, I really can, but ever since you dragged that blue bitch home with you, I've had nothing out of you but headaches and sob stories. Take today for example. We had the situation pretty well in hand before you showed up, saw you're little girlfriend, and fell to pieces! You could have blown everything before we even get started, Caroso!"

"I was taken off guard," Panther said, staring a hole in the bar, "It was just a little mistake…"

Wolf pounded his fist down on the bar top and whirled on Panther, "Dropping our contract's name to the enemy! Do you think Krystal doesn't know my little cover story was bullshit? She's a fuckin' telepath, you stupid asshole!"

He gave himself a second to cool down, took a big swig straight out of the bottle, then slammed it back down. Once he got a little control back he went on.

"Way I see it, Panther, you're about one major fuckup away from losing your place on this team."

Caroso spat out a weak laugh and said, "Well why wait, O'Donnell? Why not fire me now, before I can make that 'fuckup'."

Wolf grabbed his blaster off the bar, holstered it, slid his bottle down to Panther, and made for the door. Before he walked out into the street he looked back over his shoulder to say, "If it comes to it, Caroso, you won't be getting fired. There's too much riding on us to risk on that mouth of yours. Be back at the hotel in an hour. If we have to come find you, it'll take a DNA scan to identify what' left of your body."

With that, he walked out. This island only had one small starport, and if Peppy's people hadn't found another way off, then Leon would find them soon enough.

This whole thing was one big mess…


	31. Chapter 31

Zoness

A pall had settled over them as they sat around Aleksi in a cramped, humid apartment above a small Katinese restaurant. Falco stood near the door, looking like he wanted to make a break for his arwing. Instead, not knowing where to go, he just stood with his hands clenched so tightly that they shook. Slippy sat on one of the small beds nearby, focusing intently on his PDU, but he didn't seem to be doing anything with it other than avoiding everyone else's eyes. Katt knew she was in charge of this little unit Peppy had put together, but from what they'd just learned...

"There's more," Krystal suddenly spoke up.

She had been behind Katt, and when she turned to look she saw anger in the woman's eyes.

"There has to be more!" Krystal snapped at Aleksi as the big Venomonian sat on a bed, eyes cast down and the lines of his face showing his age, "what are you not telling us?"

"I am sorry, girl," he rumbled in his deep, accented voice, "nothing else I could say would be helping you. And we cannot stay here long, or they will be looking for me."

"We can handle Wolf and his men," Katt said, firmly, "and if Krystal is right, then we need to know everything."

"Not Wolf," Aleksi said, "worse than Wolf. The Agency is having me on very short leash these days. If they believe I have told you anything, maybe I am being locked away in some dark, forgotten hole…maybe I am being buried there. The same for you."

"Please," Katt pleaded, "We don't need specifics, anything you can tell us…we just need to know what you told Fox or where he might be. We know you spoke with him. All I'm asking for is some kind of clue for us to-"

"Fuck that!" Falco boomed from across the room, "We don't have time to be tiptoeing around here! If you know where this shit is going to go down, then you'd better tell me now!"

"Falco-"

A glance told Katt that Falco's hand was on his pistol.

"You weren't there last time," he said, his voice lowering, "None of you were. Only reason either of us made it out of that shit was 'cause we had each other's backs…"

"Are you going to shoot me, boy?" Aleksi said with a tired voice and the placid, world weary expression of a man who had long ago lost his fear of being shot.

They stared at one another for a moment before Falco riled, looked ready to draw, then whirled around. He slammed his fist into the frame of the nearby door, swept back the raised feathers along the back of his neck with his other hand, and pushed through the door. He wouldn't go far, Katt was sure of that, and she understood.

Aleksi sighed and shook his head, saying, "I am sorry. I tried to help McCloud, but he is in too deep…maybe we all are. If I knew where, I would tell you. If I knew when, I would tell you. But I am not knowing these things. All that I am knowing is that they _believe_ they have him. They have set trap. They have all the cards, and McCloud…luck, I think, is all that he has."

. . .

ORBIT: 156 miles above Zoness.

SPEED: 1,760.14 miles per hour.

TARGET VELOCITY: 1,700.14 miles per hour - parallel orbit.

DISTANCE TO TARGET: 3.31 miles

"Three minutes," Fox said, taking his eyes off the illuminated text of his suits wrist computer to stare out the open airlock in front of him. A ring of sunlight gleamed along the circular horizon of water covered Zoness far below as Fox scanned the blackness ahead for their target. They were still on the night side of the planet, and many of the larger islands below glowed with millions of tiny artificial lights. The darkness would protect them from being spotted visually, and the ship's black box would hopefully keep anyone from taking a closer look at the weather satellite they were pretending to be.

He walked farther out onto the lowered ramp, towing along a large cable from a winch which was recessed into the ceiling of the airlock. Fay stood next to the winch controls, feeding him line as he moved until he was at the very edge, where he tried again to spot it. He scanned ahead until he saw a star blink out, vanishing behind what he now saw as a growing hole in the otherwise starry expanse, then said, "I think I see it."

"Where?" both Orian and Fay asked at the same time.

"There," he said, tracing what he believed to be its outline with an extended finger.

"Ah, I think I see," Orian said as he projected a small, square-ish green outline into his field of vision. It steadily grew in proportion to their rate of approach.

Reaching down to his waist, Fox attached a small, extended anchor from the line to a mooring sight on his suit, disengaged his grav-locks, angled his feet "up" so that he was standing on his hands, and pushed off. A few seconds was all it took for his feet to find the lower hull of the ship and, re-engaging his boots, he walked out far enough that he would be safely clear of the ramp.

"Alright Fay," he said, "Have Sig start slowing us to match their speed, but not too fast. We don't want to look suspicious."

"He's already on it," her voice answered over his suit's speakers, "For the record, I still think I should be the one doing this. My suit is better equipped for this sort of thing."

"Experience is more important than gadgets, kid," he said with finality, "just remember to feed me plenty of line. I'd rather have you reel in slack than have the cable go tight and lose all my momentum mid-jump. Keep the lever full forward until I'm either boots-to-bulkhead or the readout tells you you've got about 450 feet. Got it?"

"Got it," she answered, resignedly.

What he didn't tell her was that _too_ much slack was dangerous. If there was too much, a sudden change in speed from either the ship or the anchoring sight could cause the thick metal line to snap taut with enough force to sever limbs. Or it could rip him off the hull of the other ship so fast that it snapped his spine. A more experienced team would have found each other's average jump speeds, and would have practiced until they could control the line to match, with just enough slack to be safe. Unfortunately, training took time which they didn't have, so Fox was taking a bit of a risk. He was only jumping to a small orbital station with a fixed velocity, though. Basic stuff at jump school.

A nervous grin played at the corner of his mouth as the metallic surface of the target, now somewhat visible even in the dark, loomed beneath them, outlined against the planet's surface. They had matched velocity, but had maintained a safe enough distance that the station's proximity alarms wouldn't sound, which was about a quarter of a mile at their current velocity. Fox crouched down with his finger on the button to release his grav-locks again.

"Ready?" he asked.

He heard Fay blow out a puff of air on the com, then say, "If you are."

He gritted his teeth, his legs tensed…He really wished he'd finished jump school.

He pushed off hard into a leap, sending himself flying out into the emptiness between Fay's gunship and the roughly 50,000 square foot surface of the orbital warehouse below. He used the initial drag of the line to swing his feet "down" toward his target, and let the gravity of the planet beneath him balance out his momentum with the force needed to accelerate with the rest of the line behind him. Then there was nothing to do but fall, and hope his aim was right.

A thing occurred to him as he flew through space, the subtle tug of gravity becoming notably less subtle as he went. 50,000 square feet sounds a hell of lot bigger in your head then it looks when you're plummeting toward it at the equivalent height of your average skyscraper. Though he could make out the outline clearly without Orian's help at this point, it still looked like he was moving toward a large black nothing. His only reassurance was the cable moored to his hip.

Orian laughed suddenly, leaving Fox confused until he said, "Fox, do you remember when we first met? I, um…I said you would serve as my new vessel?"

Fox groaned, his reflection smirking back at him in his visor despite himself.

"This!" Orian dramatically proclaimed as they flew along, "Is the maiden voyage of the O.S. Fox McCloud!"

Fox suppressed the urge to laugh for fear of how it would sound on Fay's end, then asked, "O.S.?"

"Orian's Ship," he answered as-a-matter-of-factly.

"Well done."

"I thought so too."

"Alright, that's 450 feet," Fay announced before either of them could say anything else.

Fox stole a glance back, but due to the lack of light, he could only just make out the length of the line behind him.

"How much slack?" Fox asked.

"Um," Fay hesitated, "maybe…fifty feet?"

Fox's eyes shot downward to find the hull of the warehouse closing fast. He'd jumped less than a minute ago, but he was just about there. He made sure his knees were slightly bent, and checked his speed on his suit's display: 4.9 miles per hour. He'd accelerated a bit, but it wasn't bad…as long as he landed right. He had time for one deep breath, turned on his grav-locks and braced himself before making solid contact with the metal surface. His momentum carried him down into a full crouch before easing off and allowing him to right himself. The remainder of the line to which he was still attached came tumbling down around him, forming a few loose coils here and there as Fox double-checked his boots' hold to the hull beneath him. Feeling confident, he walked out a distance until he was safely away from any coils that could snare him, detached the small anchor from his waist, and placed the larger one at the very end of the line firmly against the metal hull. He held down the button on the anchor's head until an indicator light glowed green, then gave it a firm pull to test the connection.

"Connection shows green on my end, Fox!" Fay chimed over the com.

"Right, go ahead and reel in some of the slack, but leave a little for Sig to play with," Fox said, "Then hook up and head down here when you're ready."

"Already on it," Fay answered as Fox took a look around. Even though they were in the shadow of the planet, you could still see a little way by starlight. The facility was shaped something like a large brick, hurtling through space in an orbit around Zoness, but this close to the surface, lit only by distant stars, it looked like he was standing on some dead, otherworldly plane. Modules and arrays stuck up here and there like scattered rocks and spires wrapped in darkness and silence. Although he couldn't put his finger on it, something felt…wrong.

Chalking it up to nerves, he continued to look around while he waited for Fay. His helmet had variable flood lights if he wanted to see more clearly, but he had them switched off to avoid being seen. He was worried about external security, though up close this place didn't look like much of anything special. It made sense since Vaccini probably wanted this installation to be low-key. It probably had basic LADAR and visual, but two vac-suit clad bodies were too small for most conventional LADAR arrays, and visual was obscured by the darkness. The place could have thermal sensors, which would be a problem, but if that were the case, then they would know soon enough.

He looked back at the line again to find most of the slack gone, and after a few moments he could make out a shadow moving along it at a good speed. Fay came coasting down, pulled along the cable by a motorized zip-bar she held in one hand and fastened to it by a safety clip at her waist as a backup. Fox met her at the anchor as the zip-bar slowed and stopped a few feet from the deck. He offered a hand which she took as she undid the clip at her waist, and he pulled her down onto the hull.

"Such a gentleman," Fay teased, holding Fox's hand in both of her own as if fawning over it before giving it back to him.

"Right," he said, distractedly, "Let's get going."

"…right," Fay said, sounding a little disappointed as they started out toward one of the warehouse's smaller docking hatches which they'd identified on an earlier pass of the facility. He heard her mumble, "So he gets to have a laugh, but I don't," under her breath as they moved.

Kidding aside, they were here for a reason, and they both needed to focus. Fox made a brisk pace, walking a few hundred yards until they came to the edge of the hull. Peering over, he could see the station's primary docking bay, and, more importantly, the smaller personnel hatch a little ways beside it, both lit solely by the blinking red guide lights at their four corners. With a lurch forward and a large step, he went over the edge. He brought his leading foot firmly down on the vertically descending hull, pushed forward like he was climbing a large stair, and his whole world seemed to rotate. His relative "down" changed once again, the docking hatch now appearing to be flat against the deck.

Behind him Fay did the same, but when she came fully upright she paused and said, "Whoa, that was…disorienting."

"Life without gravity," Fox said, "you get used to it."

After a moment, Fox set off again. They walked about halfway to the hatch when Fox stopped, the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach growing sharply as he realized what was bothering him. There should have been external lights shining on the doors, but this area was as dark as the rest of the hull. The only reason he could see the hatches at all was due to the flashing red guide lights at the four corners of the docking bay. It was a rule: you always kept the doors lit. Space was big and dark, and you wanted to be able to see when someone came knocking. More than that, other than the doors, there were no guide lights to warn passing ships that the station was there, no light emitted from portholes, nothing. This whole station was dark…

"What is it?" Fay asked in a whisper, even though they were speaking across closed comms.

"Probably nothing," Fox lied, "just stay close."

Once they'd made it to the smaller hatch, they crouched beside it.

"Alright," he said, "can you get us in from here?"

"Should be able to," she answered, searching around in the dim, flashing red light, "I just need to find the access panel."

Lines of light traced busways along her right glove as she tore away a panel with her left. She placed her hand on the exposed circuitry. She was still for a few seconds, but she jerked suddenly and pulled her hand away.

"What's wrong?" Fox shot.

Fay hesitated, then said, "It's nothing. I just thought…Sig said he was having difficulty hacking in, and then I thought I saw something."

"Where?"

"In my heads up display," she answered, uncertain, "but it was just for an instant. I think I'm just nervous."

She placed her hand back on the panel, and a second later, the hatch slid open. The instant it did, a tingling sensation began at the back of Fox's skull and crept forward.

"Fox," Orian began, but Fox silenced him with an affirmative nod. It was the same feeling he'd gotten from Warren. The cargo, the 'cipher' was here…or at least it had been here.

"Fay, I need you to wait here," he said, peering into the darkness beyond the hatch. The airlock should have been lit. That was automatic. Something was very wrong here.

"No!" Fay shot back, a little too loudly, "there's…something wrong with this place. You don't think I've noticed? You are _not_ going in there alone." She sounded like she was on edge all of a sudden. Whatever she thought she'd seen must have shaken her.

"I need you to stay here and make sure this hatch will still open once I'm inside," he said, evenly, "I also need you and Sig to be my eyes and ears while I'm inside, hack their systems. This station should be mostly automated, but it still takes a few people to run it. I need to know where they are, if possible, and I need you out of danger, calling the shots. It's the best way for you to help."

Fox expected her to keep arguing, but after a short silence she said, "Alright, but I don't like this…any of it."

"Me either," he admitted, quietly.

"Then don't go," Fay said,"Something's not right. We should go back to the ship."

"Then what?" Fox asked, "We go lay low somewhere and try again when it's safer? This is the best lead I've got, and I don't want the trail to go cold. Just wait for me out here, and I'll call you when I need you." He flashed his most charming smile, then realized she probably couldn't see it and said, "I'll be fine, trust me."

She didn't answer, and Fox didn't wait for her to. He pulled himself into the airlock beyond the hatch and into the blackness it seemed to contain. The farther in he went, the less he could see, until he came in contact with what he believed was the inner door. The tingling in his skull intensified as he leaned against it and felt around for an access panel. His hand fell on what he was looking for, but he couldn't see what he was doing.

He reached up to turn on his helmet's lights, but thought better of it, and said, "Fay, are you in yet?"

"It's taking longer than usual," she answered, "but I should be able to get that door open for you."

"Hold off for just a second," he said. Reaching to his waist, he pressed the release on his holster and pulled his pistol free. He was very likely walking into a trap. Whoever was on the other side of that door, they were probably armed and dangerous. But was it Vacini's thugs, the CDF, or something worse? Nothing about this felt right, even for a setup. Making it this obvious was bound to spook the target, so why?

Without warning, the lights in the airlock came on, and Fox looked back just in time to see the outer hatch slide shut.

"Fay," Fox said, uneasily, "What's going on?"

"It's not me!" she shouted, "Sig is trying to get control back on the airlock, but something else is overriding him! I think...ay be…counter-hacked…"

"Shit!" he barked, "Cut the connection! Fay, can you hear me? Fay!"

Before he could say more the tingling in his head began to grow worse, and something in the back of his mind suddenly made his mouth go dry and drew his eyes to the small window on the internal door. Beyond it was nothing, only blackness, but he was strangely fixated on it. The light from the airlock _had_ to be shining in, but the space beyond it just swallowed it up without giving anything back. He moved closer slowly and peered inside, but his head blocked the window along with whatever light it allowed in.

He couldn't see…

He backed off a step and looked around at the lit chamber. The only lit area of the station.

His eyes moved back to the window of the interior door as a sinking feeling roiled from his gut. He felt like an animal in a cage, like he was being watched. He looked back to the outer hatch and saw Fay. She tapped the side of her helmet and shook her head. She couldn't hear him, and he couldn't hear her. They'd been cut off.

A sharp metal clang made him turn again in time to see the inner door unlock and the light above it turn green. Fox's heart beat in his chest like a drum as his hand tightened around his pistol. His hackles rose, and he stepped forward.

He walked slowly toward the door, pistol raised as he stared out into the dark. He pressed his back against the right wall and pulled the latch on the door with is free hand. With a soft click, the door swung slightly outward. He hesitated for a moment, took a few quick breaths – time to spring this thing.

Fox darted through and rolled back into the shadows to the right of the now open hatch, keeping his back to the wall as he brought his pistol up. He was ready for action, ready for a hail of gunfire, ready for whatever may come…but there was nothing. With the light from the airlock, he could see the outlines of stacks of crates rising high above him, but that was as far as he could see. Reaching up, he decided to turn on his helmet's lights and switched the setting to red. There was probably no point being subtle now, but red light didn't travel as far as the rest of the spectrum – better for seeing without being seen. It also didn't screw up your night vision once your eyes were used to the dark. It helped, but only shed light in a relatively small cone in front of him, washing everything in crimson light and black, ruddy shadows.

His pulse was still high as he scanned slowly from one side to the other, his pistol tracking along with his range of vision. Crates were stacked in various piles near the cargo door, and by the look of things, the warehouse had just received a shipment. It looked like it had all been hastily unloaded, and no one had bothered to start sorting. From where he stood, he couldn't see much beyond the stacks. Heavy machinery, robotic arms and cranes extending from the ceiling high above all hung down motionlessly.

Staying close to the wall, Fox moved, slowly, cautiously, away from the large docking hatches around which the crates seemed to be localized. Peering beyond the stacks from his new angle, he could just make out tall rows of shelving that formed large isles, and halfway between them and where he stood, high above the warehouse floor, a large, windowed observation deck protruded from the wall to his right. It was an automated warehouse, and that was the control hub for the skeleton crew that ran it. It was where he had to go.

The light from the airlock behind him went out with the audible 'clunk' of an opening breaker. Fox's head snapped back to look, his helmet shining light on the now darkened door as he pressed his back to the wall. The sensation in his skull was getting worse, and it was making it even harder to control his already edgy nerves. As he winced against the feeling, images began imposing themselves on his field of vision again. Heart rate, blood pressure, anima production, nanite positions…

"Orian," He hissed, but there was no answer. His lip curled into a snarl as his eyes darted from place to place. He was ready to shoot anything that moved. Damn it! Where was Orian?

"I'm here…"

He hadn't said anything that time.

"No," Orian said, "you didn't. I think the bleed-through is getting worse. There's something very wrong with the marker signal Fox. I can't…concentrate. I think this may have been a mistake."

"I know it's rough," Fox said, staying against the wall and moving toward the right bulkhead of the warehouse as he struggled to keep his focus against the growing buzz behind his eyes, "but I need you to focus. The signal is a hell of a lot stronger here, right? So that means-"

"The source is here…I know," Orian interrupted, "but something isn't right. Here, I'll show you."

Fox blinked and suddenly he was seeing dimly glowing shapes and areas of hull in the darkness. It wasn't bright, but it was definitely visible.

"What is that?" he asked.

"The signal," Orian said, "It's a form of artificial radiation, but your eyes don't normally differentiate the spectrum. Look at it."

He did, and he didn't like what he saw. It was everywhere – weaker in some places than others, but it looked like…a trail. It went up the stacked crates, across the floor in erratic patterns, and even some spots on the machinery hanging from the ceiling gave off the dim glow.

"Where is it coming from?" Fox asked in a whisper.

"And why was it moved so much?" Orian added.

It had been moving, but…had it been 'moved'? The way it looked, that just didn't seem to be the case. Something hit him as he looked around at the trail.

"Hey, brighter areas have received more radiation than others, right?" Fox asked as his eyes followed a particular trail.

"Yes," Orian said, "why?"

He traced the trail from where it emerged from a winding path through the stacks, back to the hatch he'd just come through. There was a point that glowed, not brightly, but brighter than the rest of the trail, like it had stopped there for a while. It was just in front of the hatch, but a few feet back. Far enough to not be seen.

He swallowed hard.

Close enough to see inside, though.

A sudden burst of static across his comm. brought his hand up to his helmet.

"Fay?" he whispered, hopefully, but it cut out as quickly as it had started. All of a sudden he felt like he'd been standing still too long, and that that was a very bad idea.

"Agreed," Orian said, uneasily.

"Stop doing that!" Fox snapped, making his way carefully toward the far right bulkhead.

"I can't help it," the A.I. defended, "I can't focus well, and I'm…_hearing_ you in here."

He let it go as a door appeared at the far edge of his vision. He stopped about twenty feet away. The dull glow of the marker signal was scrawled heavily there. The ground was painted in a frantic pattern of it, and the door itself was completely covered.

"I don't like this," Orian said.

Fox's jaw locked down tight as he moved closer, and in the ruddy light from his helmet he could now make out large dents, gouges, and harsh scratches, like an animal's. Each time he moved through an area that glowed with the signal, a fresh wave of nausea rolled over him, but he pushed through. Once he'd gotten close enough to touch it, he stopped. It looked like an emergency door. It would seal off whatever was behind it from the main warehouse, usually to protect from decompression or fire. They would seal automatically in those cases, but they could usually be locked down manually. A sign by the door indicated that it lead to the living quarters and a stairwell up to the observation deck.

He needed to get in there.

"You want to go IN there?" Orian asked, exasperated.

"Whatever did this," Fox whispered back as he crouched by the door, "looked like it was having trouble getting in. That's making the other side of that door pretty damn appealing right now."

"Point taken. Fox, things that move on their own shouldn't be giving off a marker signal. It's only for locating essential ship components. Computer cores, power nodes, ansibles, that sort of thing. Not things that move, or…maul doors."

Another burst of static erupted from his helmet, but this time it lingered, grew quieter, and then there was a voice. He strained to hear it through the static, but he couldn't quite make it out.

"…watch…hel…eas…"

"Fay," Fox said, "Fay, if that's you, you need to get back to the ship, right now. I'm working on an exit strategy, but you need to be ready to bolt."

He listened against the static for a few seconds, but the voice had stopped, and he began to wonder if his mind was playing tricks.

"Fay, can you hear me…?"

The static cut out again, and Fox cursed under his breath. He looked around at the darkness, but there was nothing to see but crates, shadows, and the dull glow of the signal. He turned his attention back to the door, cast his light along the frame, then a few inches to either side, then a few feet. That's when he saw it. A large lever with hashed caution lines framing it. It was an override for the manual lock on the door. If he pulled it, the tumblers would begin to release. It wouldn't open the door all at once, though. These overrides worked on a delay to give the person on the other side a chance to essentially override the override.

"Why?" Orian asked, having apparently been eavesdropping.

Fox grabbed the lever and pulled. Against the oppressive silence, the shrill metallic whine it produced seemed to cut his eardrums.

"Let's say these doors get sealed in a fire, but you're still on this side," he quietly answered Orian as the tumblers audibly clicked away one by one, "this gives you a chance to get to safety."

"Then why can it be overridden again from the other side?"

"Let's say it's not a fire," Fox said, "let's say it's a hole in the hull. You let this door open on the other side, you're as good as dead. Gives the other guy a chance to save himself…at the cost of his buddy."

"I see," Orian said as the last tumbler clicked into place, and, with a hiss, the seal on the door released.

Fox held his pistol tightly and angled downward at the alert as he cautiously watched the dark beyond the reach of his light. He had almost expected _something_ to try and stop him, but nothing happened. The trepid stillness crawled on undisturbed. With a push, the door swung inward. Fox moved in carefully, sweeping from right to left as he rounded his way inside with his pistol at the ready. There was no marker signal, and once on the other side he immediately located the manual lockdown lever. It was identical to the previous one. He pulled it without hesitation, and the door slammed shut again. He looked around again to be sure, but there was no trace of the signal anywhere on this side. That alone was cause for relief, but he didn't want to stand around reveling in it. To his left, a stairwell rose upward toward another blast door he could see just at the edge of his light's reach, and in front of him, there was an open doorway into a small room. Peering inside he saw three Spartan bunks against the right wall, a televid and a mini-kitchen on the far side, and three wall lockers on the left. Other than its alluring lack of glow, there was nothing in there Fox needed and no one to answer his questions, so he needed to move on. Now eyeing the stairs, he figured he had best get on with it.

There was no maker signal on this side of that blast door, so it stood to reason that whatever was going on in the main warehouse might be an isolated incident. If he could locate the crew, he might be able to leverage assistance for cooperation. As he neared the top of the stairs, he noticed the hatch at the top was open slightly. He readied his weapon and reached forward to push the door the rest of the way open-

His skull crawled the second his hand made contact, and he swallowed hard. His eyes darted to the base of the door, at the sliver of the floor he could see beyond it, at the slight glow it was giving off. He felt his earlier relieve evaporate and his lip curl into a grimace. He backed off a pace from the door, braced himself, and sent the door flying outward with a swift kick, clearing the doorway and the room beyond it as he moved through.

It was the control room, the observation deck he'd seen from the warehouse floor. The marker signal entered from a broken window pane to his left and ran rampant across the floor, the wall, and even the ceiling. Once he was sure the room was empty, Fox moved further in, keeping a wary eye on another open door on the wall to his right. He made a note that the station's controls all seemed to be intact, then, avoiding a direct line of fire to the open door, he made his approach. The maker signal went inside, and Fox was tired of playing cat and mouse with an unseen threat. Once he'd positioned himself beside the door, sure that his approach had been clean, he licked his dry lips, checked his weapon for the third time, and whirled on the opening.

Blaster up and ready, he charged through – then came to a crashing halt a quarter of the way through clearing the room…at a dismembered arm, still dripping at the end of a set of omnicuffs. It just hung there from a pipe, while, in his peripheral vision, a lylation form sat bound to a chair. Fox reached up slowly, hesitatingly, and switched his light from red to white…the color of the room barely changed, and he felt his stomach turn. The thing in the chair was a scene of horror all of its own. It was like he had been been tied down for an interrogation, but…it was slashed open in a dozen places, its face was unrecognizable, the jaw gone as its tongue hung down its neck, and its guts were spilled in a pile in its lap. It…_he_ had been…mauled.

He spotted what was left of the other body on the floor on the far side of the room, just beneath a drying splatter on the wall where it had obviously impacted harshly. That was two, but there had been three bunks, three wall lockers. There was another set of cuffs hanging from the same pipe, but the other end was open…

A sudden wave of numbing pins and needles crawled up the base of his skull, making Orian yell as if in pain, and his comm. crackled to life with the sound of static…and the sound of harsh breathing.

"McCloud…please," a pained male voice rasped, "You…you have to help…"

"Who is this?" Fox managed through a locked jaw.

There was only static for a long moment, then, "Its…my suit…the signal's corrupted…"

"Who are you!" Fox shouted against the adrenaline in his system.

"…it's watching you…"

The feeling of the marker signal scrapping across his skull worsened as Fox turned.

The signal rolled off of it like a miasma, illuminating it dimly in against the blackness beyond the glass as it clung to the other side and peered in. Crawling like an insect, it pulled itself through the broken glass in fits and jerks, landing on the deck on all fours before lurching itself rigidly upright. It looked identical to Fay's suit, but…wrong. Its head tilted to the side like it was studying him, the visor gone and overgrown with something like scar tissue. The plates at the chest, thigh, and shin were all partially covered in the same, each finger ended in sharp, needled points, and the 'skin' tensed and hardened each time a part of it moved, like a sick puppet.

"…please…" the voice on his comm pleaded, "please…you have to help me…"

Its shoulders slumped and it leaned forward, the skin of the suit tensing on the legs like it was about to charge.

In a blink, Fox leveled on it and fired three quick shots. The voice in his comm. cried out in pain as three holes burned into the suits midsection. The thing stumbled back a step before catching itself, the skin around the blast holes melting into a blue liquid that slithered in to fill them while the voice screamed in agony.

"What the fu-!" was all he managed to say before it hurled itself forward again. Its arm shot straight out like a spear, fingers all ending in vicious points. Fox dodged to the side, but barely, the fingers scraping harshly across the outside of his helmet. He caught the extended arm before it could be withdrawn and swept the things feet out, hurling over his shoulder and into the far wall. Each contact with the suit thundered through is head like lightning, throwing him off balance. It impacted with the wall and rebounded as if nothing had happened at all, and Fox fired another shot at its chest but this time it rippled harmlessly off of an unseen shield.

The thing leapt upward, out of the light of Fox's helmet. He could see it by the glow of the signal it gave off before it sprang from the ceiling, crushing him to the ground, and before he could think it gripped him by the shoulders and threw him like a ragdoll. He broke through a pane of reinforced glass in a sharp impact, and fell backwards into darkness as his stomach rose sickeningly into his chest. He landed on something hard with a loud metal clang. While struggling to regain the air that had been knocked out of him he realized he had landed on a stack of large crates. The vitals displayed in the air in front of him showed a number of light fractures and blunt trauma, but nothing broken. He looked to his left and saw the third body laying half on, half off of an adjacent stack, his spine snapped as his body bent back at a ninety degree angle. One of his lights flickered, then blinked out while the other continued to shine on the man's corpse.

"…ahh…" the voice in his comm. moaned, "…can't fight it…it's trying…to escape…I…I detonated…my ship…before – it – could" his words became more and more strained before he let out a painful scream fell silent again, the sound of labored breathing across the comm. then becoming the only thing that told Fox he was still alive…alive inside that thing.

Fox saw it leap through the dark from the observation deck above him, bathed in its eerie glow, and landed on one of the mechanical arms hanging down from the ceiling and crawling down toward him. With a pained grunt, he pushed himself off the side of the crate and tumbled down to the deck, landing on his hands and knees. He struggled to his feet just as the thing slammed down an inch from his face and swung its straightened arm like a club. Fox managed to guard, but the force of it lifted him off his feet and slammed him sideways into the stacks.

One broken rib.

It waited a moment, just watching him as he caught himself – like it was toying with him. Then it charged again. This time, Fox leaned into it, rolling around its attempt to claw him and countering with three quick hits to pressure points and an uppercut that snapped its head back. Next, follow with-

His world shook as the creature brought its head back down like a sledgehammer, shattering Fox's visor and knocking him flat.

Head spinning, he managed to roll away in time to dodge a punishing fist that rang out across the open warehouse. He reached for his blaster, but realized he'd dropped it somewhere in the darkness and scanned frantically with his remaining light before it fell on the suit instead. It just stood there like before, watching him.

"…listen…" the voice strained once again, "we can't let it…escape…we have to drop the station…I have a pla-"

The words ended in a sickening crack as the thing's head suddenly snapped around backwards, showing Fox the back of its helmet before slowly, jarringly coming around a full turn, the twisted skin around the neck crawling as if alive until it resettled and lay smooth again.

Fox leaned against a nearby crate for support as a wave of needles racked across his brain and Orian cried out again. His hand fell on something like a metal pole just as the thing decided to charge again. Giving it everything he had, Fox whipped the pole around and caught the thing across the head. Its neck bent in an unnatural angle, but the thing charged through unfazed and sent a vicious kick into his stomach. He folded in half and flew backwards, slamming against another stack of crates.

Choking on his empty lungs, Fox barely managed to recover enough to realize the stack was falling, heavy crates impacting the ground around him. He forced himself to this feet and ran, looking back to see the creature getting buried beneath the avalanche of metal containers.

Three broken ribs, minor fractures: right ulna and radius, concussion at the base of skull.

He could see the nanintes responding in the display in front of him and felt the tiny pricks of warmth as they frantically applied anima to his injuries.

He ran with a limp but forced himself to continue as he weaved between the stacks until he came back to the blast door and jerked the override back with everything he had. The tumblers began clicking into place, but before the door opened a metal crate the size of Fox's body slammed down three feet to his left.

The suit came lurching from behind the crates. It raised an arm toward the ceiling that bent in a grotesque angle around the broken bone beneath, and the mechanical arms and machinery all came to life at once. The sound of it all was almost maddening as it shattered the relative silence of a few moments ago. A grabbing arm swung out from the darkness, missing Fox by a few inches, and gouged the wall beside him. The door hissed and he was through it in the blink of an eye. He pulled the lever on the other side, but before it could shut, a loader rammed itself inside the doorway, keeping it partially open.

He ran, ran back up the stairs and to the controls. The agent said he was planning to drop the station. Maybe he could still do it if he got back to the controls. He topped the stairs and staggered through the still open door, over to the command console, and looked for anything that looked like controls for the station's maneuvering thrusters. He located them, and tried to activate the station's systems, tried to think against pain and the constant droning in his skull, but the controls were unresponsive…of course they were, that thing had control of the station…how was the agent going to do this? What was his plan?

Before he could figure out anything, a massive lifting arm crashed through the glass and knocked him to the ground. It crashed across the consoles in a flurry of sparks, metal, and broken glass. He felt the sting of shrapnel cutting through his suit and into his body as the claw lunged forward and grabbed him, pulling him back out into the warehouse with the deck far below. It crushed the air out of him as it moved, lowering him down near the tall, dark isles of shelved crates and equipment.

Battered, bloody, and nearly broken, it dropped him heaving onto the deck. The suit came toward him, emerging from an open area of the warehouse where the glow of the marker signal was brightest…where the cipher had probably been. He struggled to his feet, and, bracing against the shelving nearby, attempted to run. All he could manage was to stagger, and he only made it a few paces when it hit him from behind, spinning him through the air a short way until he collided with the shelves on his right and fell over into a slouch.

The pain was intense, and the scratching at his skull maddening.

"Orian," he wheezed, "you there?"

There was no answer as the creature made its way toward him, slowly, satisfied that its _prey_ wouldn't run anymore.

"Don't think I'm gonna be able to get us out of this one, buddy," he continued anyway, "sorry."

It loomed over him, head tilting unnaturally to the side as it studied him for a moment. Then it reached down, wrapped its fingers around his neck, and lifted him off the ground like he didn't weigh a thing. He could feel the thing's skin crawling against his neck…then it felt wet.

Fear swelled in his mind as it melted into a liquid and slithered onto his neck. He couldn't breathe, and the skin poured onto him until he could feel it all the way up the back of his head.

"Connection good," a thousand whispered voices crawled through his skull along with the scraping of the signal, "Compatible host, found. Assimilating."

Hope faded away into horror with the realization of what was happening. It wasn't going to kill him. God, he wished it were!

Voices screamed at him as he _felt_ his implants being overridden. _Join us. Everything for us._He screamed for Orian, but there was no answer, and the liquid skin continued to slither off of the dead agent and onto him.

He could feel himself fading, sinking into the chaos, being consumed.

He was almost gone…

But…

There was something else – difficult to describe, but…like a little serpent chasing its own tail. He felt drawn to it. It became his whole world as he watched it continue its loop.

Loop…loop…loop…

Black tendrils like bloody veins given life snaked in from everywhere, closing in on the little serpent.

Loop loop loop loop loop

They reached out to ensnare it, to consume it with everything else.

Looplooplooploop

They touched it, and-

The little thing grew in an instant, like it had just been the tip of an enormous iceberg, now exposed.

CONNECTION AQUIRED. EXPOSURE CRITICAL. INITIATING RECLAMATION PROTOCOLS.

All at once, he snapped back to life and the thing grabbing him recoiled off like it had just received a thousand volts, slamming against the opposite shelf. The suit's skin on the arm that had been holding him was gone up to the elbow, and the rest was melting and sloping off the body in streams and wet clumps. A high pitched shriek seemed to erupt from every cell of the creature as Fox struggled back to his feet, the needles that had been stabbing at his skull now replaced by a steady, growing hum that made his vision shake.

"Fox!" Orian shouted suddenly, "Fox I have control of the station's thrusters systems, but the virus is fighting back! I need an order!"

He realized suddenly that the station's emergency lights were now on. They weren't bright, but they were a hell of an improvement. Disoriented and confused, he looked up again at the suit and saw that it was beginning to re-solidify on the agent's corpse, keeping it standing as it crawled back over the grotesque thing. Some of it, still in the liquid state, poured into the body's open mouth, and the neck whipped around and snapped taught. The mouth moved slightly, and it roared at him, enraged.

Fox's grasp on the situation returned, and he asked, "Can you get us out of here?"

"No," Orian answered, "all I have are thrusters and life support. That's as far as I got before it recovered and began resisting."

He nodded as a feral grin spread across his face. "Fine then. Do it. Drop this thing into a deteriorating orbit. Make sure it burns up on entry, toward the ocean, just in case."

"Roger," his A.I. answered, matching his determination. The thrusters fired and the station shook as its momentum shifted.

The creature finished re-absorbing the agent's corpse, and whipped around as if suddenly realizing what was happening. Its helmet split at the agent's mouth, opening in a roar so wide that the real skin at the corners split and bled.

"Payback's a bitch, aint it!" Fox yelled at the thing, bringing its attention down on him like a ton of bricks as he tossed his broken helmet aside, then growled, "Come on mother fucker…round two."

His ribcage was a throbbing mass of pain, his vision was a bit blurry, and his head was humming like a goddamn engine. But, if he was gonna die, then he was gonna die well!

The thing threw itself at him, and he brought his leg up in a vertical kick that clicked its mouth shut and sent it flipping past him into the shelves. Pain shot through every inch of Fox's body as he whirled around, just in time to catch a claw across his chest. The fingers tore open his suit and slashed across him like four lines of fire. He pushed through it and countered, two hits to the ribcage, leg sweep to throw its balance, and forcefully slammed its head into the deck. He backed off two paces into his stance.

It wasn't hitting as hard, and it was a bit slower now. Must not have been fully recovered.

It sprang up from the floor and onto the shelves above his head before rocketing off and back down toward him. He jumped back a step to avoid, but it recoiled as soon as it hit the deck and plowed into him. He threw his momentum mid air, and landed with a knee to its midsection before rolling to the side and back to his feet as his cracked ribs screamed in protest. It came at him on all fours like an animal, and pounced. Fox caught it mid jump, rolling his whole body into a downward punch, but even as it connected, the thing drove its fingers into the meat of his thigh, and ripped them out again.

Static exploded from his nearby helmet again, but this time he recognized the voice.

"Fox! Can you hear me?" Fays voice called out as the thing got up again, "Answer me damn it, I can see your heat signature!"

"Fay!" Fox yelled, hoping she chould hear him, "Cut the damn line and get clear, the station's going down!"

"Fox can you hear m – oh to bloody hell with it! If you can hear me, stay clear of the cargo hatches!"

Before he could say a thing the hatches on the far side of the warehouse thundered, glowed molten red, and then exploded in a hail of heavy weapons fire. The air all rushed outward in a typhoon of flying crates and reversing shrapnel, and Fox grabbed the nearest shelf for dear life. The creature was on a crate that was being pulled toward the now gaping hole in the hull when it sprang off and landed on the deck, where it held fast. Gravlocks.

Fox reached down to activate his own, but his grip slipped and he was pulled into the air.

The creature shot out a claw and dug into his ankle as he soared over, bringing him to an abrupt halt as its fingers sunk into his boot, trying to get at his flesh.

He looked out at the vacuum beyond the burning hole, then at the thing holding his leg.

"You're not…" Orian said.

But that was all he got out before Fox disengaged the locks that held the boot onto the rest of his shredded suit. As he flew he exhaled hard, bouncing painfully off of a hanging piece of machinery as he went. Then in a rush of air he passed through the ring of fire and glowing metal, and felt the last shred of air in his lungs get pulled out by force. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the moisture evaporate in a chill across the closed lids.

Then there was silence, and an ache as he experienced direct expose to the absolute nothing of space…

. . .

The zip-bar snapped to a stop as it reached the end of the now un-tethered cable and Fay's system's continued to track Fox's body as it flew through space. She leveled off her grappling line, exhaled, allowed the suit to do the tracking, and fired. It zipped through space, out of her sight, tracked only by her heads up display and the occasional flash of its tiny retro thrusters as it adjusted its trajectory.

"Come on, come on, come on," she pleaded until the line snapped taunt. She pulled hard and began reeling in the line until Fox's limp form came into view. Below, the station suddenly flared as it entered Zoness's atmosphere and began to burn.

She caught Fox in her arms, secured to the main line by the safety at her waist, and was about to tell Sig to bring them in when something emerged from the darkness.

It came hurtling into view as her headlights shone on it, a burning carcass with spidery, moving veins of some sickening blue slime clinging to it. It's mouth was open in a scream and it was reaching out to grab onto her.

She screamed. She was not ashamed of that. But she also drew her pistol and fired. The first few shots stopped its momentum, the next ten accelerated it back toward the planet, and every shot after that as Sig began to reel them in did wonders for her nerves. At some point, the overheating ammo cell auto-discharged, but Fay kept pulling the trigger until she was well inside the airlock, and the door slammed shut, whereupon she immediately dropped the dry firing weapon and turned to Fox.

"Fox!" she yelled as the airlock pressurized, "talk to me…"

She looked down at him as she laid him gently down on the deck and found that his mouth, eyes, ears, nose, and all of his wounds were covered in strange blue, organic caps. She tried desperately to tear them off, but there was nothing to get a grip on. She released her suit, threw away the helmet and wrestled out of it down to her waist, then tried to dig at them with her fingernails, but there were no seams between the caps and Fox's skin.

She was on the verge of panic when the airlock finished pressurizing, the light above the inner hatch showed green, and the material liquefied and melted away.

She looked him over, but his chest wasn't rising or falling. She placed her ear by his mouth to listen for breath, but there was none.

"Oh no. No no no!" She said, pinching his nose and blowing into his mouth.

Three chest compressions: One, Two , Three.

Another breath.

Three compressions…

Another-

Fox's hand shot out and grabbed her arm, and he gasped, his eyes flying wide open. He shook violently, had a fit of spasms which knocked his head against the floor as he ground his teeth together, holding his ribcage with his other arm, then he collapsed again, unconscious, but breathing.

"Sig!" Fay shouted.

"He is alive, ma'am," Sig answered, "He is breathing again, and his heart rate is stable. I suggest taking him to the sleeping quarters and applying medigel to his wounds."

She sat still for a moment, tried to stand, then fell back into a seated position in a bundle of unraveling nerves.

What the hell was that…that _thing_ she had shot? Was it always this way? Was she really cut out for all of this? What was she supposed to do now?

She got control of herself after a second or two, slipped back into her suit, reactivated it, and picked up Fox's unconscious form. She carried him to the ship's sleeping quarters, just a few bunks built into the walls, and laid him down on a bed. It took a few minutes to get his tattered suit off of him, but she went about it patiently as her mind kept going back to how helpless she'd felt, to the horrific realization that Fox's suit was compromised, that she'd probably almost killed him, and to that thing, whatever it was.

She stood and walked numbly over to the emergency med-kit on the wall nearby and took out the pack of medigel to put on Fox's wounds, but when she got back to him and started to look him over in earnest, there were no wounds. It was just like before. She knew she had seen a number of those strange caps on cuts and holes before, but now…now he was just fine. Unconscious, but the picture of health, leastwise.

"Good lord, man," she whispered, "what have you done to yourself?"

After a moment, she stared off into nothing and said in an equally soft tone, "What did I almost do to you?"

She shook her head, in part to try and shake off the sudden morose feeling, and made for the comm. room to hang her suit up to charge. She slipped out of it easily now that she was calm, and put on more comfortable clothing before she carried the now limp, lightweight suit over to the charge station. It looked like some sort of cryogenics tube from those cheesy old movies she used to love, but with a wire skeleton for the suit to hang on, and two rods which emitted the various frequencies of energy which the suit absorbed for energy. He slipped the suit over the frame and slid the door shut. As soon as she did, the rods began to circle it, and the machine hummed its little hum.

She walked over to the chair by the communications equipment and threw herself down in it.

She was angry, at herself more than anything, but she was also…scared? Yes, that sounded right. She had never been that scared in her life. Not even when she'd been kidnapped. It was tough, having someone else's life on the line.

After a moment of staring off into space, she clapped herself on the cheeks.

"Alright, Fay!" she told herself, sternly, "you don't have time to be down on yourself. Right? Right!"

Fox was out could, and still possibly in need of medical attention – discreet medical attention. They needed a place to lay low and-

An alarm sounded that told Fay that ships were closing in on their position.

-and they needed to beat a hasty retreat!

"Sig, get us down to the surface, and make sure nobody's the wiser," she said.

There was no answer.

"Sig?" she asked, just a touch concerned. He had never not answered right away before, "…Sig?"

"Yes, of course, right away ma'am."

She felt a little uneasy, and something in the corner of her eye made her look over at her suit as it hung in its charger. She blew out a breath, brushed her bangs out of her eyes, and decided it had just been a long, stressful day.

She made her way to the cockpit, and wondered to herself, exactly how long had it been since she had been back to her father's estate?


	32. Chapter 32

**Peppy**

Peppy sat at his designated place on the long oak table as the last few councilors and select officials who's clearance and duties allowed them to attend this meeting made their way to their seats. On the table in front of each seat was a black envelope which contained information related to the meeting. Toviere's seat at the head of the table stood empty, which was odd. Despite his age, the man rarely shirked his duties, especially in the case of a meeting this important. Without him here, there wouldn't be anyone to keep Cromwell in his place, which didn't bode well. Speaking of which, Cromwell sat surrounded by his lackeys, and there was something about the subtle, smug looks he was exchanging with them that made Peppy uneasy. There were hushed murmurs being passed around beneath the overlaying blanket of civil silence which preceded these sorts of events. Not many even knew this meeting was taking place, and even fewer knew what it was about.

A closed session, called days after rumors had spread of MacDane's deteriorating health, Toviere's absence…and Cromwell's disturbingly good mood – this promised to be interesting.

Or course, these weren't the only worries he had rolling around in his head, they were just the most recent. In the two weeks since the incident, Peppy had been reluctantly recalling the bulk of the fleet to Corneria in order to 'safeguard the capital from the potential threat of an unseen enemy.' It was a decision spearheaded by Cromwell, and backed unanimously by the rest of the Council. Peppy had objected, of course, but he was overridden. The councilor had made a compelling argument. Every conflict of the last decade had managed to reach Corneria, and sentiments of protectionism had held strongly since the destruction of the capital during the Aparoid Invasion. It was decided that the CDF would handle the search while the _brave men of the fleet_ assured the safety of Corneria.

They had called it 'defense in depth' and it was decided that it would be the best strategy against an unseen enemy, but that was just the bullshit Cromwell had shoveled to sell his plan to the rest of the council. A real strategy of defense in depth meant layered opposition. What they were doing was abandoning the rest of Lylat in order to protect one planet. In the meantime, the CDF maintained its lockdown of nearly every other planet in the system while they searched for Cromwell's boogiemen. This search was expected to have one of two results:

One – the cipher is found and returned with the guilty party being rooted out and punished

Or,

Two – the true threat that was behind the theft is forced into open action.

In the first scenario, Cromwell looks like a hero, and a harmless, if asinine spectacle of punishing the criminals publically is held to show the strength of the law. In the case of the second, the enemy is drawn into attacking, hopefully before they are ready. In an attempt to seize the initiative, they spread themselves thin and the fleet is sent from Corneria to counterattack. A direct reversal of the scenario Corneria faced during the Lylat Civil War. The plan had appeal…if you were Cornerian.

The rest of Lylat was being left to burn, and on top of that, civil unrest was growing in the outer worlds. The whole system was building into a powder keg. Old political tensions were simmering under the CDF's damned blockades, and the withdrawal of the fleet was seen by many as blatant abandonment. People didn't know what was going on, but the large scale actions being taken were making them scared and angry, and Cromwell was just fanning the flames. Even if the bastard's boogiemen didn't exist, this 'strategy' would create one for him. All he had to do then was defeat whatever aggressors inevitably rose up and restore peace to the Cornerian Federation, and he could set himself up as a damn messiah. That's probably how he saw it, anyway.

Peppy looked over to find the man looking honestly frustrated as he spoke to Balefort and gestured toward Toviere's empty seat. The skeletal ferret brushed off whatever Cromwell was saying to him and stood, planting his hands firmly on the table in front of him, and cleared his throat loudly to get everyone's attention.

"Councilor Toviere will not be attending this meeting, as many of you have likely surmised," he announced clearly, then waited for the inevitable exchange of whispers to cease, "I have been informed that he has fallen ill after seeing to the condition of Pepper MacDane, who, as you may or may not know, is Toviere's godchild. We, of course, will send our condolences and wish him a quick recovery. For now, it has fallen to me to preside over today's events."

His scowl deepened ever so slightly as he clearly _relished_ the duty. Balefort wasn't a bad man, all said and done, but he was not the type to go out of his way to help anyone. He also maintained an even lens of cynicism with which to observe the world and everything in it, which was likely where his _lovable_ nature came from. It probably took three pots of coffee just to get a man like that out of bed in the morning. He was better than most blue bloods, though. Maybe it was just Peppy's way of thinking, but grouchy and levelheaded beat two-faced and blindly ambitious any day.

"Given the nature of this meeting, I believe we can dispense with the usual pomp and get directly to the issue at hand," Balefort soldiered on, then distributed his scowl evenly across all present before asking, "Are there any objections?"

"Good," he said, after a brief silence, "The envelope in front of you contains information regarding an operation called Progenitor which predates the Lylat Civil War. This information is highly sensitive, and the punishment for disclosure whether deliberate or otherwise will be a charge of treason and death by firing squad. Anyone who wishes to leave now may do so, but will remain under house arrest until the crisis at hand has been dealt with, as the existence of this meeting is also considered to be a federal secret."

No one moved an inch, and in the stillness Peppy realized something about the non-council members who had been admitted. He recognized a few of them. One, in particular, stood out as he fidgeted with his tie and avoided everyone else's eyes. Beltino Toad. There were also others he didn't recognize, but his gaze stopped as he found another familiar face looking back at him with a raised eyebrow. Donnovan Redding. He nodded his head politely to his cousin, then looked forward again.

Those two were both participating members of the project they were all here to discuss, likely to serve as expert accounts of the events that transpired. James would have probably been here too, if he were alive.

He shook his head. No sense thinking about that now.

"Very well, gentlemen," Balefort said, his voice becoming even more stern than usual, "In a moment I will ask everyone to open the envelope in front of them and read, carefully, the contents within them. Before you do, it is to be understood that this information is classified above Top Secret. This project, the events surrounding it, and the results thereof are now and shall continue hereafter to be treated as nonexistent. This information is more important to the Cornerian Federation than the lives of every person in this room."

After scanning across everyone again, Balefort took his seat. Without even reaching for his own envelope, he folded his hands under his chin, and said, "You may now begin."

. . .

Peppy sat very still in the now empty room, at the now empty table. The session had ended about ten minutes ago, and everyone had left. Well, nearly everyone. Beltino had stopped to talk, but the man was never much of a conversationalist, and Peppy had convinced him to come by his home to talk a bit later. The only people left in the room was himself, councilor Qualing, Natalie was her first name if he remembered right, and then there was Balefort. He was staring intently at nothing. His mind was clearly on something other than the contents of this room, and his expression was haggard. He looked much older than his fifty-three years, but Peppy supposed being in charge of the Consulate Intelligence Agency exposed a man to things that could accelerate the aging process a bit.

Like knowing what had happened to James. Just thinking about it made his teeth grind so hard that he thought they might crack. Sixteen years. Sixteen long years, and he'd never known. He had wondered, suspected from time to time, but it never amounted to anything. He was gone, and Peppy had had to tend to Fox.

"You were close, were you not?" Balefort's usually stern voice broke the silence with somewhat less sternness.

Peppy looked up to see a look of sympathy in the man's face. It was brief, and the man's eyes turned back to stone again once he'd directed them elsewhere.

"Yeah," Peppy answered, numbly.

Balefort stood and walked toward the door, but stopped as he passed Peppy's seat, "You understand that I was not able to relate this information to you, don't you?"

He let out a short, halfhearted laugh and answered without looking, "I'm surprised you ever even thought to."

There was a short silence before he heard the man exhale, slowly, wearily.

"It's not perfect," Balefort said, "this system of ours. And it's rarely ever fair, but neither is life, eh…? Things are as they are. I have always thought that it is far better to do what one can with what one has then to sit idly by and wish for something better." He was quite for a moment longer before he continued. "At least that's what I've been telling myself all these years. They say that MacDane may not last the week."

"I know," Peppy said, "You were a friend of his, weren't you?"

Balefort nodded, his steely gaze growing distant again as he stood, hands folded behind his back with the echo of military service. "Since we were children. We were something of rivals back then." He chuckled as a smile came to his face, an event which, on a better occasion, would have been cause for a media circus. "We even loved the same woman. He won that one, obviously. I was doomed from the beginning."

He turned his gaze back on Peppy as his smile evaporated and that look of sympathy returned.

"We would have helped him, if we could," he said, "James, I mean. I want you to know that."

Peppy nodded, though he wasn't sure he believed it, and Balefort, after a moment's hesitation, took his leave. He was never one for intimate conversation, so what he'd said stuck. That man, perhaps, would have helped, but the rest of the council? He knew full damn well that most of them wouldn't have lifted a finger.

For sixteen years, he'd gone on with his life, continued with their dream, even took care of that man's son…just like he'd promised. But now, to learn about this now – it was devastating. He hadn't felt like this since his wife had died, since he lost James…no, he hadn't really lost him that day, had he?

For sixteen years he had failed to see it, ignored his suspicions, and lied to that man's son. He hadn't known it at the time, but that day when he'd pulled Fox out of training, that day he had had to be the one to tell him, to watch a part of a young man die…the day he'd told Fox his father had been killed…

He had lied.


	33. Chapter 33

**A Familiar Place?**

_He was here again. He could feel the same tears, that same ache, but this time he didn't dare cry._

_ He knew this place, the small room wrapped in white curtains. He came here sometimes, and watched the same scene unfold. It was always the same…it wasn't supposed to be like this._

_He sat on the floor, knees tucked to his chest as warm tears ran steadily down his face, soaking his cheeks and matting the fur beneath his eyes together. His breathing jittered and shook through his small, racking frame as he sat, trying to be still, not daring to move or to make a sound. He watched the bed, the unmoving hand that hung down from it while his stomach wrenched and twisted. The whole world felt like it was pressing down on him with silent, unseen eyes. He wanted to run, but he didn't know where. He felt alone, and scared…_

_ He tried to choke it all down, tried not to make a sound. He could see the walls beyond the curtains in the corner of his eye, the way they writhed, but couldn't make himself look._

_ He couldn't._

_ He felt sick._

_ Why was this happening?_

_ He reached out, slowly, hand shaking, eyes filled with fear and shame, for the pale, slender arm hanging so limply from the bedside by which he sat. Some small part of him hoped that he could hold her hand again, that it would still be warm and gentile and everything would be alright. He squeezed it, squeezed her hand like she had always squeezed his, but it was cold, and stiff, and lifeless._

_ His chin quivered, and he shut his eyes tight to hold back the tears…but they flew open again when the hand suddenly tightened around his own._

_ Unsure, timid, a tiny spark of hope came to life in his chest as he looked up at the bed, and in a tiny, squeaking whisper, he said, "Mom…?"_

_ But there was no answer. The spark of hope faded and sank heavily into the pit of his stomach as the hand continued to tighten, painfully around his own. It hurt, but he was too scared to cry out, his voice failing even as his mouth opened to scream. Her body sat upright at an unnatural speed, like a puppet who's strings had been jerked, and the blanket that had covered her slid off. She stared with flat, dead eyes at nothing, until her head jarringly turned to look down at him._

_ Those terrible eyes settled on him, and suddenly he remembered the last time he'd been here – when he had fallen, and that thing had been looking for him. It felt like it was watching him now, watching through her eyes. Her mouth didn't move, it just hung open mindlessly, but a thousand voices tinged with pain, anger, and sorrow whispered from the darkness beyond the curtains, "Why?"_

_ It was all he could take. He ripped his hand free and ran, blinded by the tears in his eyes and the panic that coursed through every inch of him. He ran through a dark hallway, the walls alive with squirming blue veins that reached out to try and snare him as he went. Fear drove him onward, toward a distant light that seemed to be getting farther and farther away._

_ He risked a look back, and to his horror found her running after him, her skin crawling with the blue veins that now looked like puppet strings, one arm reaching out to grab him. All the while, the voices screamed at him._

_ "Why? Why! WHY!"_

_ He ran with everything his legs would give him, but just as he looked forward again, he was forced to come to an abrupt stop. The hallway ended in a massive pit. The light had been running toward was now gone, and dark, churning waters spiraled downwards, into utter blackness. It was a dead end, and he couldn't go back. The fear grew and grew until…until there was nothing left to do but give in to it. He turned in time to see the tendrils from the walls snaking out to ensnare him, in time to see her slow to a wobbling, jerking march a few paces away. She reached out to him as she came closer, step by step, and again the voices cried, "Why?" Inky blue liquid streamed from her dead eyes like tears as she came ever closer._

_ "Mom," Fox said, his young voice empty and broken as she reached out and touched his face, the blue veins crawling across onto him, "I'm sorry."_

_ Then he heard a new voice, just one over the thousands of others. It was loud and clear, and a light began to shine from behind him._

_ In the swirling pool, a light shone from deep beneath the violent waters, and a serpent could be seen, swimming in a loop just at its edge._

_ Again the voice cried out to him. It was his father's voice._

_ "Fox!"_

_ And in that moment, he knew what he had to do. He gave her one, last, sorrowful look, and then he fell…_

. . .

The very first thing he became aware of was the sound of birds chirping. He opened his eyes to find an ornate ceiling above him, and he could feel a very soft bed underneath him. Where was he? The question rose to the forefront of his thoughts as his mind gradually warmed to consciousness.

"We're on Zoness," Orian answered, "in Miss Fay's family home. Glad you're awake. You were in a bad place a little while ago."

Fox was quiet for a moment before he said, "How much did you see?"

Before Orian could answer, though, Fay's voice, sounding very weary, said, "Fox?"

He looked to his left and saw her sitting in a cushioned, wooden chair, highlighted against the morning sunlight which streamed in from the open window behind her. She was hugging her knees to her chest, and her hair was hanging down in front of her eyes in little, white strands. She brushed them aside as she looked over at him, and her eyes were puffy and red. Despite it all she looked...

Beautiful.

He winced at the fact that that had just entered his head. Compared to what he had woken up from. She was beautiful compared to that. That was all.

He forced the unwanted thought away, and asked, "Are you alright?"

She blinked a few times in apparent disbelief and sniffed against her runny nose.

"Am _I_ alright?" she said, disbelief giving way first to obvious relief, then bewilderment, and then anger, "You're unconscious for two days and the first thing you do is ask if I'm alright!"

"Uh…" Fox tried to say, but his words were stolen by a tear that rolled down Fay's cheek.

"You are complete idiot, Fox McCloud!" She shouted, then, more softly, "I was afraid you weren't going to wake up at all."

He could feel a bit of heat coming to his face as he sat up, so he looked away to hide it, scratching his head and frowning as he did. She'd been worried about him, which meant that the reason she looked like that was his fault. He'd made another one cry, damn it.

"Sorry," he said, sheepishly, looking back at her before averting his eyes again, this time toward his lap.

She didn't answer for a moment, so Fox looked back again just in time to see her clap her hands to her cheeks and shake her head.

"Now's not the time!" she blurted, assumedly at Fox, though what she meant exactly was lost on – "You're finally awake, so…I…" she trailed off and looked at the ground. Was she trying to say something? "I…" Fox's stomach growled loudly, "wanted to invite you to breakfast?"

"Uh," he answered, awkwardly, "Yeah, breakfast sounds good. Thanks."

She cleared her throat gently as she got to her feet and composed herself.

"Right, so, I will see you downstairs then," she said, avoiding his eyes. Then she bowed her head politely, and quickly saw herself out, leaving Fox confused with what had just happened.

Before he had a chance to give things much thought, though, his stomach protested the fact that he was still in bed, and he decided he had better get a move on.

Twenty minutes later, Fox was dressed in a set of clothes that had been laid out for him and was sitting across from Fay at a shaded table in a large garden. They were behind the manor now, and from the outside, it looked enormous. His clothes looked expensive too, though they weren't really his style. They were a lot more comfortable than he thought they'd be, so it could have been worse. They breathed well, especially since he had left the collar unbuttoned. Fay had fixed herself up nicely, and was wearing a sun dress…and that bow. It was just like he'd remembered it, big and red, with little streamers running down to her neck. He remembered what he'd thought of her earlier and felt embarrassed. It was still that little girl, after all.

She seemed lost in thought, or maybe just tired. She didn't look like she'd been sleeping well, which made him fell like shit. Not that it was _all_ his fault, given the circumstances. Still, what was he supposed to do in this kind of situation? Apologize? Console her?

Keep his mouth shut to make sure his foot stayed out of it – yeah, that one seemed best.

"Fox," she suddenly said, making him stiffen, but before she said anything else, the food arrived.

An older gentlemen, Cornerian, came pushing a trolley with two covered dishes in front of him. He walked with a refined, snooty sort of gait, but smiled warmly at Fox when their eyes met.

"Ah," he said, "Master McCloud, how good it is to see you again."

Fox blinked, looked at Fay, then back again, "Have we met?"

The man laughed and uncovered the first dish, placing it in front of Fay, then the second and placed it in front of Fox.

"We have, though only briefly," he said, "it was just before you brought Miss Fay back to us. You came with questions, and I answered as best I could."

He thought for a moment, and then remembered, "Right! You're the butler."

"Clearly," he said, smiling as he gestured to his appearance, "but it's good that you remember me at all. We were so grateful to you-"

"Siegfried," Fay politely interrupted, "I am sorry, but there is something I need to discuss with Mister McCloud. Could you leave us?"

The man named Siegfried bowed slightly at the waist, and said, "Of course, madam, my apologies."

"Hey, before you go," Fox said, stopping the man as he went to take the trolley, "You don't seem too bothered by the fact that I'm a wanted man."

This man clearly recognized him, and he wanted to make sure it was safe to stay here any longer than he already had.

"Hm?" the old man said, absently, "Oh, you mean that fiasco on the televid? Rubbish. You have nothing to worry about. I never forget a face, and I am an excellent judge of character. I can say, with some degree of certainty, that there is no possible way that the man who the authorities are searching for is the same man that rescued our dear Flower."

"Seigfried!" Fay hissed, embarrassed, "I've asked you not to call me that in front of company."

The man smiled again, saying, "Oh, so you did madam, so you did." Then promptly took his leave.

It was quiet for a while after that. Fox and Fay both ate their food without looking at each other, though Fay only seemed to be pushing hers around on her plate. When he'd finished, Fox decided to risk speaking.

"You said you wanted to talk, right?" he asked, sounding unintentionally gruff.

Fay stopped playing with her food, and set her silverware down. She pursed her lips and took in a deep breath through her nose before speaking.

"Fox, I need to ask a favor of you," she said.

"Oh, is that all?" he said, a little relieved. Given what he put her through, he was almost eager to grant a favor to…

Again, he lost his train of thought as two teardrops fell to the table beneath Fay's hung head.

"But first," she said, voice wavering slightly, "I wanted to say that I'm…I'm so sorry, Fox."

He didn't know what to say. Why the hell was she apologizing?

"Fay, why…?"

"I almost killed you!" she shouted, "I didn't know what was happening, and I acted without thinking, and you almost…almost…"

The warehouse. She was blaming herself for what happened to him. That's what she was upset about. He really was bad at this shit.

"Fay," he said, sternly, making her look up at him, "What you did saved my life."

"I exposed you to space without a working vac-suit!" she protested, "how is that saving your life?"

Fox shook his head, and said, "There was an agent in that station. He had a suite like yours, except there was something wrong with it. It was corrupted somehow. It killed him and kept coming after me, and that damn thing almost killed me. In the end I was able to get control of the station's maneuvering thrusters, which was a fluke, really, and I decided to drop the whole damn place out of orbit."

Fay whipped at her eyes, and blew out an exasperated breath. "I still don't see how-"

"I was going to die, one way or the other," Fox stated, firmly, "If you hadn't blown those hatches open, then either that thing would have killed me, or I would have died when the station burned up. I didn't see a way out that time…if it hadn't been for you, I'd be dead now."

She seemed to think about this for a moment, then her breathing calmed down a bit.

"But your injuries," she said, a little more calmly.

"None of those were from what you did."

Her lip quivered again, but then she picked up her napkin and dabbed at her temples. She even smiled a little. She looked relieved, but there was still sadness behind her eyes.

"Thank you, Fox," she said, after a moment.

Feeling suddenly embarrassed, he decided to change the subject, saying, "So, what's this favor you wanted?"

Her smile faded, and she looked at Fox with those big blue eyes of hers, almost pleadingly.

"It's my uncle," she said, "He's dying."

Fox grimaced. "I'm sorry. What can I do?"

"I just got word when we arrived here. He…he wants to see me."

Fox nodded, thinking he knew where this was going, and said, "I see. It's fine, Fay. My trail's gone cold for now anyway, so I can wait here while you go see to Pepper. I promise I won't leave without you."

"Well...that is," she fidgeted, "I was hoping you could, maybe, come with me?"

Fox swallowed as he felt a bit of the blood drain from his face. This was bad. She wanted him, Corneria's most wanted, to waltz into the capital in the middle of this mess? That was insane!

But then, how could he tell her that when she looked so…vulnerable.

He sighed heavily, tried to say something, then thought better of it, waited a moment, then tried again, "Fay, it's Corneria City, we're talking about here. I can't just stroll in there, ya know? If I came along, it would make things complicated for you, and you should probably be alone with your uncle anyway."

"Yes, well, I've thought of that, and I think I can get you past security," she said, this time with forced confidence, "and, to be honest, I don't think…" she paused to take a breath and let it out again, "I don't think I can do this on my own."

She looked down and started playing with her bangs as she talked, "It's not the same as dealing with my parents dying. I never really knew them, and even though it hurt to know they were dead, it – God I sound awful for saying this – but it just didn't seem as personal. This, though? Uncle raised me like his own daughter…I just don't think I can walk in there and face him when he's…"

Her eyes began to tear up again, and before Fox had time to think, he blurted, "Fine, alright, okay," he regretted it instantly, but couldn't take it back now, "let's…hear your plan, at least."

She didn't say anything at first, but she gave him the first honest smile he'd seen from her since he'd woken up. It almost made up for the fact that he was pretty sure he had just made a terrible mistake.

God help him. Why was he so bad at dealing with women?


	34. Chapter 34

**Corneria**

With his arms crossed over his chest and his back leaning against the bulkhead behind the pilot, Fox stared out the viewport at the garden world ahead. The pilot's name was Rufus. Like the butler and most of the rest of Fay's small staff, he looked to be at least in his sixties, and had claimed to be unshakably loyal to the MacDanes. He was Aquan, but was tall for their people, and he kept a short, grey beard that connected with a slicked-back tuft of equally grey hair behind his bulging eyes.

The comm. cracked to life, and a curt voice asked for identification and a passenger manifest. Rufus answered, "Diplomatic Transport, Government I.D. number: Alpha6127Echo, registered to Lady Fay MacDane, requesting expedited landing clearance for Corneria City. Manifest Follows: Rufus Bogner, Pilot; Maxwell York, Private Security; Lady Fay MacDane, House MacDane."

A few seconds dragged by silently as the man on the other end of the comm. checked the pilot's information against his own, and the voice came back, "Rodger. Clearance granted. Proceed along the designated vector."

Maxwell York. Fox looked down at his crossed arms, at the black fur that covered them, and frowned. This was her idea. She had spent several hours meticulously dying nearly every hair on Fox's body. It was impressive work, don't get him wrong. Above the waist, it looked completely natural. The black wasn't perfectly uniform, like most dye jobs were, but varied ever-so-slightly here and there, with the odd brown hair or two to give it a very real look. Changing your appearance can take the edge off of being hunted, but with what felt like all of Lylat looking for him, a new hairstyle was feeling just a little inadequate. He could see his reflection frowning back at him in the viewport. Without the accents of white and orange coat he normally had, he looked like he could almost pass for a Cornerian. His features still looked distinctly Vulpan, but at the very least he looked like someone other than Fox McCloud. Special eye drops which he had to apply every eight hours had changed his normally vibrant green eyes to a dull shade of brown, while Fay's _piece de resistance_, a long white scar, ran from just below his right eye down to the hinge of his jaw. It made him look more imposing, like a bodyguard should, he supposed, but that didn't make up for the fact that he was shorter than the average Cornerian. Vulpans were not an overly large people, and a good bodyguard was supposed to be intimidating. Skill came first, but the bigger the bouncer, the less he has to bounce.

Fox decided to rejoin Fay in the passenger compartment of the small, luxury transport ship just as the artificial gravity began to give way to the real thing. He found her staring vacantly out the small porthole beside her seat, head propped up on her hand. She blinked back her melancholy as he took a seat across from her, and tried to smile at him. He wanted to give her some sort of reassurance, tell her everything would be alright, but he knew better. He'd been in her shoes before, and, to him at least, there wasn't much that was worse than people giving you well-meant lies while their eyes told you your loved one was still going to die.

He was there for her, and that was the best he could do. It was probably more than he could afford, but his normally solid self-discipline always seemed to fail him in the presence of a woman in need. It wasn't that he found that sort of vulnerability to be an attractive quality; it was just that he always felt compelled to help them…even if that meant doing something very stupid, apparently. He idly wondered what neuroses compelled him to do this kind of shit, but he probably wouldn't like the answer even if he knew.

Thankfully, Fay wasn't feeling very talkative, so he was spared having to try and figure out what to say to her. Instead, he 'talked inwardly' as he'd started calling it.

_Orian_, he thought, _I didn't get the chance to ask you before, but my anima levels took a jump after I got my ass kicked, right?_

"Twelve percent," Orian answered, "That's a jump of five percent over your previous levels. A significant increase, but still within safe levels."

_For now. Still nothing you can do about it?_

"I have no more control over this phenomenon than you do, Fox."

_What about…Loopy? _He hated that name.

"He's gone back to normal. It is strange. Back on that station, I felt as though I had been completely overwritten," Orian said, distractedly, "but it was like he called me back."

_Same for me._

Orian had explained everything he could about the program he called Loopy, but that hadn't been much.

"I was shocked, to be honest. For centuries, I've been trying to figure out exactly what he does. I'd all but written him off as useless, since he's been incompatible with nearly everything I tried to apply him to, then he just up and interfaces with that corruption from the signal. It was as if he were designed specifically for it."

_What's so strange about that? You wanted to know what he was for, right? He's security software._

"What's strange, Fox, is that I have no recollection of any sort of corruption in the system whatsoever. Why was this program written when the problem he was designed for did not yet exist? Is my memory faulty? Why was he a part of me? Why isn't he now? What happened to me? How was my ship destroyed?

Orian's questions were coming faster and faster, and there seemed to be a different Orian for each branch the questions took until it sounded like he was in the middle of a mob of chattering A.I.s.

Loop.

Loop.

Loop.

Fox's mind was drawn to the little serpent again, and Orian's many voices calmed, slowed, then stopped. Fox shook his head to clear it. What the hell was that?

"Sorry," Orian said, after a moment, "Seems I dragged you with me that time."

_Is that normal for you?_

"It happens from time to time."

_I thought I had problems,_ Fox thought, making Orian chuckle.

He realized, suddenly, that Fay was watching him, which made him feel embarrassed, even though she couldn't have overheard them. She smiled, and said, "You were talking to Orian again, weren't you?"

He raised his eyebrows and nodded. "How did you know?"

"You're face still makes little expressions, even though you're not saying anything," she said, sounding amused, but still a little downtrodden, "Little twitches, eye movements, that sort of thing. Was it serious?"

"Not really," he lied with a disarming smile.

She looked back out the window again and said, "Liar."

He was a little taken back, but said, "I'm lying?"

"You are," she stated, as if it were plain as day.

He let out an easy laugh. "I've been told I'm pretty good at it. What makes you think I'm not telling the truth?"

She looked back at him again and said, "Normally, I think you would be good at it – lying I mean – to people who didn't know you, better."

"So you know me, then?" he asked, teasingly, as if it were impossible. Given that they had only partnered up a number of days ago, it seemed just a little hard to swallow.

"Oh, I don't claim to know everything," she admitted, "You try very hard to be all mysterious and enigmatic, but despite that, I've managed to figure this much out:" she cleared her throat for emphasis, then announced, "you have a very honest nature."

Before he could protest, she continued, "The way you speak, the way you walk, the expressions you make when you're not deliberately trying to make them, even the way you dress yourself. You don't try to present yourself as someone you're not. So, you see, it's not that you are a bad liar, Fox McCloud, but when you do lie, you seem like someone else. You just don't seem like you. And that's how I know."

He flinched ever-so-slightly, and an equally slight smirk from Fay said she'd seen it. What she was saying was all well and good, assuming he was who she seemed to think he was, but he decided to leave it at that. She had been right, after all, about him lying, and he found it a little discomforting to be read so easily by a nineteen-year-old girl. He took a good look at her, staring out the window again as her mind went elsewhere, and she didn't seem to look quite like the little girl he remembered.

He didn't get much time to consider this, though, as the pilot announced they would be landing at the MacDane estate in a few moments.

As the ship rumbled onto its landing gear, Fox met Fay's eyes and said, "You ready for this?" He'd almost called her 'kid' again, but had hesitated at the last minute.

She looked green around the gills, but said, "I suppose I am."

Fox put on a pair of sunglasses, and played the part of Maxwell York, bodyguard, as they made their way down the now lowered ramp and out onto the landing pad. He went out first, scanned the area, and nodded back at her, even though there was little to fear in a place like this. She came down the ramp like a proper lady, holding up the hem of her dress to keep from tripping, then letting it fall naturally as she made the concrete. Then they made their way over to the waiting car, Fox gave it a brief inspection, and off they went toward the distant, looming manor.

He never understood why the rich always felt they needed such big houses. They probably only used, what, three or four rooms in them? And what was the point in all this decorative, but otherwise unused land? Land had been a rationed resource on Papetoon, before the Federation discovered it. Families back then had to make do with what they were given. That was before Fox's time, of course, and, like the limits on the number of children and mandatory career assignments, those policies were a thing of the past. A certain tendency toward spartan living was ingrained in his people, though, and it didn't help that his father had been a military man. These nobles were just showing off their money – had to show the rest of the people the difference between their stations. Pepper was a good man, but he was a product of_ his_ upbringing too.

It occurred to him that these probably weren't the most appropriate thoughts to be having about a dying man, and he shot a guilty look over to Fay. Thankfully, she was not paying attention, and it went unnoticed.

He found himself feeling nervous. Fay had been right about getting him through security. An expensive false identity for himself, on top of her diplomatic status as a high ranking member of her house, had gotten them through with little scrutiny. Nobody wanted to make trouble for the grief-stricken niece of a dying war hero. Despite all that, though, he was just on the outskirts of the capitol city of Corneria, the heart of the Federation. A long list of powerful men who likely wanted him dead were less than twenty miles from where he sat. Pile on top of that his awkward situation and his doubts about the effectiveness of his disguise, and he had good reason to be uncomfortable.

Before he knew it, they were at the manor, and he had to go through the motions of being a bodyguard again. Getting out of the car first, surveying the area, opening Fay's door, and guiding her the rest of the way on foot. It was a job he was familiar with, since he'd done it a few times before, but it wasn't his favorite line of work. It's like a law of nature. It is far easier to destroy something than to preserve it. A single, less skilled man could eliminate a target with greater efficiency than Fox could even hope to accomplish protecting it. It was nerve-wracking, and he was relieved that he didn't have to go through it for real this time. Still, he did find himself occasionally spotting potential sniper positions, assessing a person that passed a little too closely, keeping Fay's position constantly in his mind, checking her out of the corner of his eye. Creature of habit.

The interior of the place looked like something out of those historical drama's middle aged Cornerian women always seemed to go nuts over. Tapestries, hand carved, ornate furniture, high vaulted ceilings…something about it all just pissed him off. Wasted space. How much money was pumped into this place just to make it look nice?

Pepper's relatives, sons, a daughter, members of his house who were close to him, all stood around here and there, mostly in the lobby. They talked quietly in small groups. It felt like a funeral, but for a man who wasn't even dead yet.

They went up a flight a stairs, and then they were there. The door in front of them led into Pepper's bedchamber. It had been a long time since he'd spoken to Pepper, and he kind of wished he were here on better circumstances. As it stood, he couldn't risk speaking to the man, letting him hear his voice, even if he wanted to.

He gave Fay a sympathetic look, and raised his eyebrows to ask 'ready?' She nodded, and he pushed the door open for her, standing aside to allow her to walk past him.

He intended to say out in the hall to allow them to talk, but the way she gripped his hand as she walked past, he practically had no choice but to follow her in. Even inside, though, he stayed by the door and motioned for her to go on. He wasn't here as Pepper's friend, he was here as Fay's 'bodyguard', and he had to keep a respectful distance, folding his hands behind his back and standing at a firm parade-rest.

He could see Pepper's wife, looking exhausted as she sat in a motionless rocking chair beside her husband's bed. She smiled at Fay, and the two exchanged words for a moment before Pepper spoke.

"Is that you, little flower?" he asked, his normally deep and firm voice now a barely audible whisper.

"You know it is, Uncle," Fay answered, softly.

Pepper was laying on a very large bed shrouded in a semi-transparent curtain. The shroud was mostly drawn back and tied to the tall bedposts, so Fox had a good view of him from where he stood by the door. He was propped up slightly by a few big pillows and was covered to the waist by a thick blanket. He looked over at Fox, and seemed to stare for a moment. He was just starting to feel nervous, when the old general asked, "And who might this young man be?"

His gaze returned to his niece as she fidgeted slightly before answering, "This is my bodyguard, Maxwell. You know how I get when I travel. He…it makes me feel safe, having him around."

"Oh?" he said, like a father who'd caught his child in an obvious lie, "well, far be it for me to pry. He does look a bit familiar, though," he looked over at Fox and strained his voice to ask, "Have we met before, _Maxwell_?"

Pepper's body looked weak, but his eyes, almost hidden beneath his big, bushy brows, shone with a light as sharp and dangerous as Fox had ever seen. He was clearly suspicious, but whether or not Pepper really recognized him was still unclear.

"It is possible," Fay jumped in before he could answer, "He has had prior military service. Maybe you gave him a medal or something?"

A mischievous smile played across the old man's mouth as he said, "Maybe, maybe. Have you earned any medals during your time in service, mister….?"

The question was something only he could answer, and the stretch at the end was meant to prompt him to give his last name. Pepper clearly wanted to hear Fox's voice.

"York."

Pepper raised an eyebrow at his niece, who had spat the name out in Fox's place.

He almost spoke again, but instead began a fit of coughing that brought his wife to her feet. She moved to his side and held his hand until the coughing died down some time later. He lay back against his pillows, looking suddenly very frail.

"Please, darling, you mustn't push yourself," the lady said, her expression pained.

"Patricia…come now," he practically wheezed, "we both know that won't make a difference." Though his message was harsh, the look he gave the woman was soft, and sorrowful.

He could see it from where he stood. Little blue lines that crawled up his neck. They connected in some places, almost always forming little hexagon shaped scales where they did. It was a remnant of the infection he had received from the Apariod Invasion. Younger, stronger victims had recovered, but older ones, and some with weaker immune systems had had trouble coping. The lingering infection acted as a slow killing cancer. The material was foreign to Lylation anatomy, but was reliant, and very difficult to remove. If any of it remained in the system, it would begin to grow again, and at Pepper's age and level of infection, the surgery required to attempt a removal would almost certainly kill him.

Peppy had been lucky. His infection was seen to much faster, and hadn't been as severe to begin with. Fox couldn't help but wonder if this scenario could have been avoided. If he had come to the general's aid sooner back then, had thought of a way of getting him out of that infected fighter without doing so much damage. He'd had to shoot it down, and it took a while to pry Pepper out of the wreckage. A pang of guilt welled up in his gut, and Fox found himself staring at the floor as it threatened to spread to his face. Memories of similar failures began to surface one after another.

"Is there nothing we can do?" Fay's voice whispered, trying not to choke.

"The doctors have done everything they can," Pepper answered, getting a bit of strength back as he rested, "there's nothing left but to accept it. I'm glad you came, though, Fay. I was afraid I wouldn't get you see you before…"

He trailed off, and Fay sat down at the edge of his bed and cupped his hand.

A long silence settled as they sat there, and bitter emotions roiled inside of Fox as he stood by, a powerless spectator. He knew what this felt like. Sitting by the deathbed, not knowing what to do, or…

"I don't know what to say," Fay squeaked, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"You don't have to speak, little flower," Pepper said with a warm smile. He stared at her for a long while before saying, "You look like your mother…but you have my brother's eyes. I wish they could have seen what a beautiful young woman you would become."

"Thanks to you, Uncle," Fay managed between suppressed sobs.

He nodded, then said, "I suppose, thanks to me. But thanks to him, as well."

He didn't say who 'him' was, and Fox's first conclusion was that the general was still talking about Fay's father.

"McCloud," Pepper said, straining his voice again, but Fox made sure he didn't react, "I wish I could help him. I'm in his debt…more than he probably knows."

Fox kept his head lowered, but looked up through his tinted glasses at the general. His eyes were locked on Fox, even as Fay nodded and asked, "You don't believe what they are saying about him, do you Uncle?"

Pepper looked back at his niece, and his brow furrowed. "That…depends."

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking confused.

Pepper started coughing again, but it didn't last long this time, and he waved for his wife to stay seated.

"It depends," he started again once he'd caught his breath, "on how much he knows about his father."

Whatever Fox was feeling a moment ago, it was overridden by his need to hear more. Now.

Fay straightened, and shot a nervous, sideways glance over to Fox.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Pepper coughed, but this time it sounded forced. He turned to his wife and smiled. Weakly, he said, "Patricia, darling, would you bring me some of that tea the doctors left for me? All this talking and coughing is making my throat raw."

"Then you should stop talking," she said, her concern now mixed with a nervous twinge, "you need to rest."

"I need my tea. A large pot, if you don't mind," he firmly answered.

Patricia sighed, closing her eyes as the blew out the wearied breath, then nodded. She leaned over her husband and planted a gentle kiss on the man's forehead. Then she hurried out, a single teardrop making its way down her cheek as she all but fled the room. It was like she wasn't sure he'd still be there when she came back.

He started coughing again, this time with a sound that said there was more than just air in the man's lungs.

Maybe he wouldn't be.

After he'd recovered from his latest bout, Pepper reached out and shakily clasped Fay's hand.

"Fay, darling, thank you for coming," he whispered.

Fay's lip quivered, and she managed to say, "Uncle…" before Pepper shook his head to quiet her.

"You know that I love you," he said. Fay nodded and whipped at her eyes, "I've always thought of you as one of my own. I watched you grow into a woman your parents would have been proud of. I know I'm proud of you. I wish…I _had_ planned to talk with you more, but that would be selfish now. I don't have much time, and I want to clear my conscience. I have things to tell James's boy, and I need you to wait out in the hall."

Fay leapt to her feet like she'd been bitten, eyes wide and confused. She looked back at Fox, then to her uncle, "But how-?"

"Please," Pepper said, a tone of authority making his request an order.

Her shoulder slumped, but she nodded. She kissed her uncle on the forehead like her aunt had, then rigidly made her way to the door. Her face was a stone mask, and she didn't look at Fox. He didn't know what she was thinking, but he felt ashamed. He was stealing away what few precious moments she had left with her uncle.

She stopped beside him, just at the open door. She tried to say something, but failed and turned her face away so Fox couldn't see. She walked out, and after a few seconds he could hear her footsteps turn to a run.

"Don't you think that was a little cruel, general?" Fox said, trying to keep the acid from his voice. He wasn't sure if it was Fay's reaction just now, the mention of his father, or the memories this whole situation was dredging up, but his mood had shifted from sympathetic to foul.

"Maybe," Pepper answered, weakly, "but you haven't left me much of a choice. If you weren't here, then maybe it would be different."

"How'd you know?" he asked, moving closer so the general wouldn't have to strain his voice.

The old man smiled, his heavy eyebrows lifting to expose those sharp eyes again. "It was those sunglasses," he said, "you can dye you're hair all you want, boy, but you look just like James with those things."

"Hm," Fox grumbled, taking the shades off and folding them in his hand, "Guess that was a bad idea."

Pepper's smile faded quickly. "As soon as I saw you, I knew I couldn't die without telling you about your father. Fay will have to forgive me."

"I tried to keep her out of this," Fox shot, defensively, "but she's pretty damn stubborn when she sets her mind on something."

Pepper let out a long, wearied breath, and said, "That girl…she does have a stubborn streak. Her mother was the same. She's worshiped the ground you walked on, you know – since she was a little girl."

"Yeah, I, uh, got the feeling," Fox said, uncomfortably, "I can think of better role models, though."

"Me too," the general said with a wry smile, "I hold you responsible for the way she's turned out."

A bounty hunter? A tomboy? "So you knew?"

Pepper shook his head, "No, not specifically. I don't think I want to know. It's bad enough, her showing up with you."

Fox grimaced, but said nothing, and a long silence followed.

"It was twenty-four years ago," Pepper said, breaking the stillness and making Fox's ears stand up straight, "that's when we recruited your father."

Twenty four years, four months, two weeks, five days. Fox's stomach clenched as he asked, "Recruited him for what?"

Pepper's eyes were suddenly very flat and dull, like he had already died, but his words continued despite him.

"Progenitor," he said, evenly, "We called it Progenitor."


	35. Chapter 35

Final Words

"The bookcase...by the window," the old general said, pointing with a skeletal arm which he seemed to lift with great difficulty, "There is a book, The Memoirs of Gallen McDane, bring it to me."

Fox didn't waste any time doing what Pepper asked, though he didn't understand. It took a moment to find, but the book was an old, leather-bound thing with worn lettering on a creased spine. He reached for it without much thought, but was surprised by the weight of it once he'd pulled it from the shelf. He stared at it intently as he walked it back to Pepper's bedside, then offered it to the man.

Pepper didn't meet Fox's eyes, didn't reach for the book, but instead said, "Open it."

Fox frowned, but again did what he was told. The pages refused to separate, but the cover opened easily. Inside was a metal symbol, set inside a compartment hidden in the false pages, an eye encircled by a ring with a bit of cloth tied around the top to serve as a necklace. It wasn't made of anything special, just black iron.

"What is this?" he asked, looking up to see Pepper staring out his bedside window.

"I don't know how much time I have left, Fox, so please, just listen," he said solemnly, "Cornerian history, if not the entire history of Lylat, has been guided. There is an archive on this world, older than any society we know of on any world in this curious star system of ours. It is a repository of information left for us, to _lead us to our destiny_. At least, that was the rhetoric. Amongst its stores are a number of edicts, instructions which gave rise to an order believing the archive and its information to be a sort of divine gift. We've spent centuries deciphering the archive's secrets. We have used these secrets to shape the development of this world and then all the worlds in Lylat according to its edicts. We...I believed we were doing it all for the greater good. I have since seen otherwise. How can we have claimed to work toward the betterment of our people, when we so willingly sacrificed those very people to achieve our ends?"

Pepper, clearly exhausted by the strain of speaking, and perhaps something deeper, still managed to suppress his coughing, and paused to catch his breath.

When he settled, Fox urged him on, asking, "What does all of this have to do with my father?"

"In due course, boy. The archive lead us to the stars, put us ahead of the other Lylations. Some thought this was a sign, confirmation of our great destiny, others took it farther. Still, we did as instructed. We united Lylat, we advanced our cumulative society just was we were instructed, but they never came. The final edict: Once thou hath completed thy edicts, and united thy peoples across the many worlds we hath sewn thee, await thee thy makers. We are ever watchful."

Pepper sighed wearily, "We waited for years, and nothing happened. We performed our duty, we guided our people just as the archive guided us, but there was nothing beyond the final edict. We didn't know what to do. Our order began to fracture. Some believed we had made some mistake, that we hadn't followed our edicts closely enough or that we had misinterpreted something. Andross lead a faction that believed we had been abandoned. They denied the deity of the makers and took to calling them Progenitors instead. These divisions were not only in our order. The Federation was never intended to stand on its own, Fox. We carried on as best we could, but our progress was not natural, and there were...growing pains. We were constantly under the threat of civil war, we were without guidance, and then we stumbled across something that was not in the archive."

Pepper's eyes came to rest on Fox as he said, "We discovered Papetoon. The archives had no mention of it. A satellite of the Lylat system, too far from the sun to be habitable, yet there you were. The Vulpan people, the sole inhabitants of a tiny garden world. And with your people, we found the Cipher. An artifact which matched the technology of our archive. We were hopeful. We eagerly established contact. We thought you might be the ones we had waited for..."

After a pause, Fox said, "Guess you were disappointed, huh?"

The old general managed a weak smile, then said, "At first. Your people's history had been lost millennia ago. Regardless, we incorporated the Vulpans into the federation, according to our edicts. We negotiated with your leaders so that we were allowed to take the Cipher back to the archive to be studied under the condition that one of your own be brought into the order. A young man named Sirus Vekker. Poor boy. Andross took him under his wing almost immediately. Together, though, they discovered that the Cipher was a memory core, removed from a station which orbited Lylat, watching us. The Eye of the Makers. They learned that it could lead us there, and we went, seeking our destiny. What we found was a lost legacy. It held a wealth of new information, marvels of technology which blended the lines between life and machine, and your people were the key to all of it. The technology reacted to you, not all of you, but many, particularly to Vekker. In response to this, we intensified our efforts to integrate the Vulpans into the Federation, and began taking volunteers so that we could better study the technology of the station. One of these volunteers was a promising test pilot, your father, James McCloud."

Pepper paused to take a deep breath, but was wracked with coughs until he was left panting and breathless. The hand he had brought to cover his mouth was spattered with tiny droplets of blue.

"Fox," Orian said, sounding suddenly concerned, "that looks like anima...get a sample!"

_Not now, Orian, _Fox thought, harshly. He was completely engrossed. This man was telling him everything, and he was eager to hear how his father was swept up in it all. Orian stayed quiet, and Fox reached out to Pepper, but the old man waved off his gesture.

When he was able, Pepper continued, his voice becoming a weak rasp, "That was the Progenitor Research Project. It lead to many advances, and restored our order's hopes. But it wouldn't last. One of the more promising branches of research was 'integrated technology.' Andross was obsessed with it. He was making impressive advances in understanding the bio-mechanical technology of the station, and tantalized the powers that be with advances in a prototype fighter. Things were going well, but he became more and more enthralled with the Progenitor's technology, particularly something called an Ansible Network. The network was a mystery, and the Station's A.I. would not allow us access. It warned that the network was offline and could not be reactivated without the proper security protocols, and the station's records showed a number of alarming, but enigmatic entries that made many question whether this network should be accessed at all. But Andross was a man possessed. It wasn't long before his research began to mysteriously stall and his political lobbying pushed to allow him to access the network. He claimed it was possible to access it using the integrated technology in a number of highly susceptible test subjects. That he could engineer a Vulpan to delve into the stations systems and access its security protocols. He...had identified a few individuals who were more compatible with the station's technology than others. Among them was..."

"My father," Fox finished as the old man clearly struggled to continue. A sinking feeling was growing in his stomach as his mind began connecting a series of dots. Andross was banished for conducting research beyond unethical. It was monstrous.

"Yes, but he was not used. Vekker stepped forward as the proposed test subject. He was as compatible as your father, and was eager to ease the people's reservations about subjecting volunteers to such dangerous procedures. There was still opposition, but Andross's influence in the order had grown with his successes, and the experiment went ahead. It was a mistake we payed dearly for."

Pepper's voice was becoming a rattle, but he forced himself to go on, and Fox couldn't make himself interrupt.

"Andross was successful. We accessed the network. Even I was hopefull, Fox. I was not among Andross's supporters, but I admit, I wanted to believe we would finally contact the makers. Within moment's, our hopes were crushed. The network was corrupted. It spread throughout the Eye. We managed to recover the Cipher and Vekker. Without the Cipher, the station shut down, but many of those who had received treatments for the integrated technologies were affected. Your father was lucky. He was on leave, with you and your mother. We had sent him away, to protect...our assets. Never keep your eggs in one basket...We were forced to abandon the station and halt the project. Andross was put on trial, but he used his influence and was never held completely responsible."

"What?!" Fox barked, "I thought he was banished!"

Pepper's eyes drooped in shame as he stared out across the room.

"Not for that. We needed him. He was very convincing on that point. You see, the corruption in the Progenitor's network was more than damaged software. Their technology was almost alive. When we accessed the network, we alerted something to our presence. Andross was able to save Vekker, and Sirus, while integrated into the Eye's systems, had been alerted that something was coming. I remember the fear in the man's eyes. 'It saw me,' he said. 'It saw me and its coming.' We didn't have much time to think about it. It was only a day later that it arrived at the Eye. The task force we had sent to secure the station was annihilated. It seemed unstoppable. Our ships couldn't damage it, and they had no defense against its weapons. This Appariod. It attached itself to the station. We feared it was attempting to reactivate it, and Andross said he could stop it."

Fox found himself slowly pacing, agitated, back and forth across the room as he listened.

"He was...true to his word. We sacrificed so many to delay it while that bastard haggled his position, but once he'd been given what he wanted, funding and resources, mostly, he delivered a device engineered to disrupt the bio-technology of which the creature was made. Your father delivered the strike package himself. Piloted a polished version of Andross's prototype fighter. They were both considered heroes. Your father..._he _was a hero. I never forgave Andross, opportunistic bastard. He held billions of live hostage to protect himself, but he was untouchable. Still, I kept him under servalliance, and it took years, but I discovered that he was continuing his experiments with integrated technology. More than that, he was intentionally exposing integrated Vulpans to samples of the corruption he was taking from the Cipher...nearly...destroyed my career...to expose him."

He fell silent for a time. The steady rise and fall of his chest was all that let Fox know he was still breathing.

"I think I can figure out the rest from there, Pepper," Fox said, despite his need to hear more, "you need your rest."

"NO," Pepper rasped, fire burning into his eyes again, "I can't die in peace without telling you all of it. Please..."

Fox settled down, and waved for Pepper to continue. He was ashamed of himself, but he wanted to hear more.

"After we banished Andross, we allowed Vekker to continue Andross's research. Vekker, despite his mentor's influence, was more reliable, and we thought his ethics made him more...malleable. We were wrong, of course. Alarming activity had been noticed on Venom since Andross had been banished there, but the politicians insisted that we handle the situation with care. He was still considered by many to be a hero, and banishing him had resulted in a number of riots. Bastard could always play to a crowd. We thought we had him under control, under tight surveillance, but some insisted on more drastic measures...I...I gave them an alternative. Andross had been snatching up former project members, but we knew he wanted one in particular. He had already gotten to each of his former candidates for integration, every one of them except your father. But it was only a matter of time. I made a deal with your father. Convinced him it was the only way to protect you. That Andross's agents may use you to get to him."

Fox's heart was clenching and a ball of anger was starting to burn up into this head.

"I proposed a trap. We send in a mercenary team to 'investigate the activity on Venom.' In reality, it was intended to make Andross tip his hand. Expose his agents. We leaked information about Jame's mission to key suspects and had them monitored. We took every precaution to ensure your father's safety, but...Andross's supporters were...more powerful...and more numerous than we had thought. Andross got what he wanted. James's escort was sabotaged...his teammate, Pigma, turned on him...and Vekker. We didn't learn about his involvement until later. In the end your father was captured."

The blood ran out of Fox's face. This wasn't right. His father had died.

"He died!" Fox spat, "You all told me he was killed!"

"I'm sorry, Fox," Pepper said, his strength all but evaporating, "we couldn't let anyone know. The issue was too sensitive. I did everything in my power to find him, but-"

"He was taken alive, and you bastards let me believe he'd been killed!" Fox shouted as his emotions boiled over, "Sixteen years...what if...I could have...I could have saved him!"

"Fox," the general said, his voice weak, but heavy with emotion of his own, "Its my fault, not yours. I sent him to his fate. I failed to protect him...and I failed to convince the council to mount a rescue. They didn't want to jeopardize their other operations."

Fox didn't want to hear anymore, but, seething, he bit his tongue and allowed General Pepper continue. He would hear it all, every word.

"Vekker's defection in the following years caught us all off guard," he said, "We were blindsided. Not only did we lose a number of former project members, but nearly half of our order defected as well. It was chaos...despite my objections, the council acted rashly...dispatched the fleet...civil war finally broke out."

The old man's words were spilling out faster as he gasped down air between broken sentences.

"We did things, Fox, while you turned the tide of the war...with the fighters...Andross helped design...we...hunted his supporters...we...killed...so many...quietly...blamed it on the war. I can't...ask for forgiveness...but I believed it was for the best...I'm...so sorry."

Tears rolled down from his sunken eyes and down the wearied features of the old general's face. Fox's anger didn't fade as he glared at the broken old general, but it became a cold thing. It sank into bottom of his chest and it burned there quietly as he looked down on the pitiful figure of the dying man.

"I believe you," he said, but he couldn't bring himself to give the man his forgiveness. Not now.

"I see," Pepper said, his voice a quivering whisper, "I know...that I don't deserve it...but I have a request..."

Fox felt a snarl pull against his lips, but didn't say a word.

"Please...leave my niece...out of this."

Fox walked over to the window and leaned heavily on the sill, his hands clenched into fists as he wrestled with everything he'd heard.

"I need her resources," Fox answered, flatly, his hatred burning icily in his chest, "her ship, her money."

The old man didn't answer right away, but when he did, it was with an infuriating calm.

"We both have blood on our hands, McCloud...we have both made mistakes in our lives...don't add my niece...to your regrets. It's my final request. You can take my ship. It...it is a diplomatic vessel...it can get you past the blockades..."

"And when you're wife or your family notice it's gone?" Fox pressed, "they report the ship missing and I'm worse off then I am now."

"I won't," Patricia MacDane said from the door where she stood by a tray with a large teapot and a cup set neatly on a small plate beside it, "I will see my husban'ds final wishes honored, Mister McCloud. I will ensure you are provided with funds, and state that our diplomatic shuttle is being taken in for an overhaul. Or you may ignore his request and I can turn you in to the authorities."

Fox studied her face as she paused and waited for his answer. Her grief shown on her face plainly, but beneath the lines of running makeup and signs of exhaustion was a grim determination.

"The choice," General MacDane whispered, "is yours."

. . .

Fay felt like a proper fool for having stormed out like she had. It had taken a while to regain her composure, but she had managed it, despite herself. The fresh air had helped, but now she was walking back up the stairs toward her uncle's room. She would apologize to her uncle and to Fox. It wasn't either of their fault. She knew this.

She gathered up her courage as she approached the door and tried to think of what to say, but, failing that, gave up and gently pushing her way past the door and into the room. Her aunt had returned, and sat in her rocking chair by the window again. In her hand she held a cup filled with tea, but no steam rose from it. It was cold, and forgotten as she stared, unblinkingly, lost, at the motionless figure in the bed beside her. There was a stillness in the room that made the fur on the back of Fay's neck stand up.

She tried to speak up, but failed, and her aunt, sitting still in her chair, spoke instead.

"He's gone, dear," she said in a detached, placid tone, her face long and icy as she stared at her husband's bed, "It was his last wish. They're both gone now."


	36. Chapter 36

**Peppy**

"We're here, sir."

Peppy blinked back his fatigue and looked blankly at his driver for a moment. It took him another second to realize he should probably answer.

"Right, yes, thank you Corporal," he said.

"If I may, sir?" the driver asked. He was a young man, had received corporal meritoriously, so he was ahead of his peers, and the boy had needed to go through the trouble of getting a significant security clearance, all just to drive around an old man like Peppy. It would help the boy's career, but it wasn't exactly the most exciting assignment a man of his age could get.

"Go ahead," Peppy said, picking up his cover from the seat beside him and preparing to step out of the car.

"You need to get some rest, sir," the young man said, curtly, "I'll come by to pick you up at ten-hundred tomorrow so you can catch up on your sleep."

"You'll be here at zero-six sharp, or I'll consider you AWOL," Peppy answered with a sharp smile to let the corporal know he wasn't being reprimanded, "I appreciate your concern, but Lylat needs me more than I need my sleep."

"With all due respect, sir, we need you at the top of your game. I've been paying attention to the news, and I think we're going to have a war on our hands soon."

Peppy stepped out of the car and paused a moment to put his cover on his head, straighten it out, and breath in a bit of the night air while he was at it.

"We've had a war on our hands for damn near thirty years, son," Peppy said, wearily, "but I'll take that under advisement. Now go home. Tomorrow's not going to go easy on us."

The corporal nodded, said, "Aye sir," and once Peppy had closed the door, he drove away, the whispering of the vehicles coils fading into the distance as Peppy turned toward his house.

The mansion was on the outskirts of the Corneria City limit. The city proper was located on a massive man made island in the middle of Lake Minor. The lake was large enough that you couldn't see the opposite bank if you stood anywhere along its shores, but the city was smack in the middle, so you could just see the outlines of the shores all around it if you stood near the edge. If you were looking out from the top floor of one of its skyscrapers, then you'd also be able to see the expanse of urban sprawl reaching out from its southern shore for mile after mile of industrial buildings and cheap housing, or the rich, green tracks of privately owned land that spread out from the north shore, peppered with mansions and gardens until it disappeared behind rolling hills. The funny thing was, most of the city's wealthy and successful tend to have their offices facing north.

Peppy's, or he should say, the Consulate Genreal's mansion was located about a mile from the northern shore. It rested at the top of a small hill, and was surrounded by an elegant, but sturdy stone wall. He remembered seeing it every day from his family's old home, about two miles from where he now stood and just on the edge of House Redding's lands. As a child, he used to play among these hills, and make up stories about what went on in the scary old house behind the wall. As a young man, he'd spent most of his time making trips to the south shore looking for excitement. Now he lived in the in scary, old house behind the wall, and the truth was there was nothing inside it but a tired old man who knew too damn much to ever be at peace.

He found himself standing in front of the door, key in hand, but couldn't bring himself to go inside. He wasn't afraid to admit it to himself, now that there was no one around that needed him, no one to impress or set an example for. He didn't want to go inside because there was nothing in there but a big, empty house. A home was supposed to be comfortable, inviting...safe. He hadn't had a real home since Vivian died.

The door creaked open suddenly, and Peppy looked up from the object in his hand just in time to see the maid jump and let out a shrill squeak. She was an older woman, Katinese, and pudgy. She was kindly, though, and made a damn fine pot of coffee.

"Sorry Lynn," He said, "didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh," she said, fanning her face with a hand and shaking her head, "No no, it's my fault Mr. Hare, I was just locking up. I would have been gone hours ago, but I decided to take a little nap since I'd finished the chores early, and wouldn't you know I slept like a log until a few minutes ago. The place is all yours now though...well, except for the maintenance guy. Young man showed up just before I decided to take my nap, polite sort but looked a little down, poor thing-"

"I'm sorry, Lynn, but the maintenance guy?" Peppy interrupted, "I didn't call anyone for maintenance."

"Oh, well, they come by about once a year to check on the place and tend to this and that," Lynn said, knowingly, "of course it's only been about eight months since the last time, but you know I've been complaining about the faucet in the kitchen for weeks, so I imagine they just decided take care of that for me. Can't believe he's still at it, though! They'll work those poor boys to death and they don't get paid half what I do. Well listen to me gab! I'm so sorry Mr. Hare. I'll go on and on if you let me, but I can tell you're tired. I'll just be on my way, and I'll see you in the morning for your breakfast! Good night, sir!"

Peppy smiled and answered her good night in kind before resignedly pushing through the doors and into the mansion. Had there been a maintenance truck outside? He didn't remember seeing one, but then they probably would have parked on the other side of the building with the rest of the help. He didn't think much of it. He had too much on his mind as is. Nearly every ship in of the Fleet was holding orbit above Corneria in preparation for another war while Cromwell's damnable CDF was deployed all over the system trying to incite one. He had the rest of the council all convinced that a show of authority was what was needed, but that man has ulterior motives, Peppy was sure of it.

He undid his tie as he made the bottom of the stairs and started working at the buttons of his uniform's jacket as he began to climb. He only made it up two steps when he heard his phone ring.

"This is Peppy," He announced after pulling the phone from this pocket and putting it to his ear.

"Hey Peppy, it's me," Katt's voice said, "We landed at that private hangar you said we could use, and we're all putting up for the night in a hotel off the South shore. We were going to stop by tomorrow for a debrief, but Krystal seemed like she had something eating at her. Said she needed to talk to you? I don't know. She just left, so, expect company. Sorry."

Peppy sighed, but said, "Its no problem. I brought her on board, after all. Did she say what was so urgent it could wait until tomorrow?"

"No. Don't think she trusts any of us with whatever it is. Didn't really have time to ask, either. Falco is insisting on hitting the streets tonight. I don't think he's looking for a good time, either. I'm going to have my hands full keeping him out of trouble."

Peppy frowned as he topped the stairs and made for his study.

"Is he going to be a problem?" he asked, pushing the door open just as he was removing his jacket, "because I can't afford to drop whatever I'm doing to keep pulling him out of jail."

It was dark in the office, but he could see by the sliver of light coming in past the partially open door, and he proceeded to hang his jacket on a hook on the wall. That was when he felt it – an old soldier's instincts telling him something wasn't right.

"I'll keep Falco out of trouble," Katt answered, "I think everybody is trying to deal with what we learned from Aleksie...it...it wasn't good, Peppy. Fox may be in way over his head on this one."

Peppy reached over to the light switch and flipped it, but nothing happened, and as he turned to face his desk on the far side of the room, he could just make out a shadowed figure sitting there, silhouetted against the starlight from the window behind him, feet kicked up on the desk.

"Good evening, General," the man said, his voice cool, collected, and just barely concealing a threat, "we need to talk."

"Peppy...?" Katt's voice called out from the phone, "You still there?"

The shadowy figure produced a small device, pressed a button, and set it on the desk as it began to emit a high frequency whine."

"Pep-" was the last thing Katt managed to say before the wave phone's signal was cut.

"What are you doing here?" Peppy asked in low tone.

"What am I doing on Corneria?" he asked in return, "I came as a favor to a friend. Had a talk with Pepper. The man had a lot to say before he died."

Peppy felt the blood run out of his face as his hands clenched into fists.

"Fox..." he uttered, "what did you do?"

The man snorted indignantly, but ignored the question, saying, "Or did you mean what am I doing here, in your office? Because I haven't really decided on that one."

The moon appeared from behind a cloud, shedding just enough light through the window for Peppy to see a blaster resting on the desk in front of the man.

"I guess I'm here for answers," Fox said.

"Fox, please, let me help you," Peppy said, reassuringly "I can-"

"Help me?" Fox interrupted, bringing his feet down and leaning forward aggressively in his chair, "Like you helped my father?"

Peppy took a deep breath, and said, "I didn't know-"

"Bullshit!" Fox barked, his composure evaporating as his fangs glistened in the starlight, "You left him there! You knew he was alive and you didn't do a damn thing!"

Fox's seemed to reign in his anger enough to bring his voice back down to a growl.

"What kind of a man just leaves his friend behind like that?"

That hit Peppy so hard he was left breathless. He could still remember that night. They'd been ambushed, taken captive, but they'd escaped their cell. They'd both been beaten badly, but they had managed to reach the hanger where their arwings were being kept, only to find that Jame's was the only one that was still spaceworthy. He remembered James shoving him, barely conscious, into the cockpit of his damaged Arwing. The image of him laying down covering fire as the fighter pulled away...and seeing him take a hit. The image of James, leaned against a crate, firing until he could no longer hold up his blaster. The last thing he remembered seeing was Andros's men closing in around him. It was all so vivid it brought tears to Peppy's eyes.

He blinked them back, and in a rough voice said, "You weren't there."

Fox was silent for a moment, then, barely above a whisper, Peppy heard him say, "I should have been," then he grew louder and more fierce as he said, "I could have saved him. If I knew he was alive I could have rescued him, but you, and Pepper, and every damn one of you Cornerian bastards lied to me!"

"I thought he was dead, Fox. I saw him go down. I couldn't have known he survived."

"Did you see him die?" Fox asked.

"...no," Peppy answered, crestfallen. He knew he should be angry, that Fox had no right to question him, but, honestly, after days of struggling with this on his own, he just didn't have any fight left in him. He'd been so certain that James had died, and when he'd found out otherwise...he knew where Fox was coming from.

Neither man said anything for a long time, then Fox suddenly tossed something to Peppy. He caught it out of the air, and looked at it under the light from the hall. It was a symbol of some kind, made of iron. An eye in the middle of a ring.

"Are you one of them?" Fox asked as Peppy looked down at whatever it was.

"One of who?" Peppy asked, confused, "Fox, what is this?"

There was no answer. Fox just watched him for a moment, then stood silently. He slid his pistol back into a concealed holster, turned off his jamming device, and started walking toward the door, passing Pepper and stopping just before walking out into the hall. With the light, Peppy could see how he had disguised himself. He was nearly unrecognizable, if you didn't know him well. His eyes were sunken, and bags hung down below them.

The thing that was the most striking, however, were the faint blue lines which reached around from the whites of his eyes, here and there forming just the tip of a glowing blue hexagon.

"Fox..." Peppy began, concerned, but the man just snarled.

"It was an empty casket at his funeral," Fox said, bitterly, "I'm going to find my father. I don't care if its just a corpse, I'm going to bring him home. If you were ever his friend, old man, you'll stay out of my way."

And with that, he walked though the door, and his footsteps carried him down the hall. Peppy, left alone in his big, empty house, walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. He pulled out a crystal bottle and a glass, and poured a drink, sinking into his still warm chair as his demons began to haunt him.

. . .

Krystal put away her card and made for the door as her cab driver sped away with ungentlemanly thoughts about her that she pointedly ignored. Peppy's mansion was impressive, but she wasn't here to admire the scenery by starlight. She had to talk to someone about what Redding had said...about her people. She was conflicted and still reeling about what that man, Aleksie, had said, that Fox was likely already captured or dead. She clenched her jaw. She didn't want to think about it, but it just kept coming back up. Was this her fault? Had she driven him to this? No. No, he made his own choices...right? Right...and anyway, if what Redding said was true, shouldn't she pursue his contact?

All this just made her feeling of guilt worse, and she hated it. This wasn't her fault! Maybe she just needed to hear someone else say it, and Peppy had always been kind to her.

Y_ou need to stay calm. You're making it difficult to regulate-_

Krystal paused just as she was reaching for the door. Who's thought was that? She didn't sense anyone nearby, other than Peppy, but she knew that hadn't been him. She reached out to see if she could get a fix on the source as she opened the door and let herself in. She could feel something, almost familiar, something that almost beckoned to her, but there was something in the way. It was like a machine with a thousand tiny parts moving in a sort of hypnotic rhythm, but she couldn't seem to sense where it was coming from.

_Oh! Well, hello there._

Krystal blinked back her surprise as she nearly collided with a man who appeared to be walking toward the door. He looked to be Cornerian, black fur, with a scar on his right cheek, and wearing a custodian's uniform. She couldn't see his eyes since he was wearing a mechanic's cap down low.

"Yes, hello," she said, thinking he'd just greeted her, "do you know if Peppy is..."

He just paused for only a moment, tipped his hat, and walked past her. As he did, she caught just the faintest sense of familiarity. The same as before. Whatever it was it was buried deep beneath that mechanical chaos.

"Excuse me, sir?" Krystal said, trying to catch the man's attention, but he ignored her and pushed out the door and into the night. She went to follow him, almost compelled to do so, when she heard that voice again.

_Fox, you're being rather rude, don't you think? She's trying to talk to us._

She didn't recognize the source of those thoughts, but the ones that followed stunned her.

_Shut up, Orian!_

That was all. Three words boiling up from the cover of some mechanical interference, and her heart leapt into her throat. They belonged to Fox McCloud.

She ran to the door, and peered out into the night, but the man was gone. She could still feel the mechanical thing out there, but was unable to tell where it was coming from. It was so chaotic that it felt like it was going everywhere at once!

"Fox!" she shouted, hoping for an answer. She heard the sound of levicoils whirring to life somewhere in the dark.

"Krystal," she turned around to see Peppy at the top of the stairs, his uniform disheveled, his face holding a hollow expression, and an untouched drink in his hand, "let him go."

As she look up at him, Peppy felt like a tormented soul. Sadness, anger, and bitter memories rolled off him like a fog as he stood, staring out into the dark past where Krystal stood.

"That was him! Fox was here!" she said, confused and wide eyed, "Why was he here?"

Peppy didn't answer.

"Why didn't you stop him?" she asked a bit more darkly.

Again, no answer.

In a burst of anger, Krystal delved for the answer she wanted, and was assaulted by the events that had just transpired in Peppy's study, still fresh in the man's mind. She recoiled slightly as she felt his emotions full force, and when she recovered, her eyes fell on a set of keys laying on a table nearby. Without thinking, she grabbed them and made it to the door before hesitating for just a moment. She glanced at Peppy, felt a pang of regret, and ran out the door and after Fox.


	37. Chapter 37

**A Spark**

How long had he waited?

The coils whirred quietly beneath his levicar as it idled just outside the gates of the enemy's estate. How long had he waited for this, to finally gain the upper hand? How long had he waited for his contact, his gamble, to provide the damning evidence he needed against that man? There would be no denying his crimes now. The truth about the Civil War, about the Council…there was no escaping this. It would bury that bastard and anyone who had ever helped him commit his atrocities. It was as if he were standing before the gates of hell with a key in his hand. To open them would be to unleash the truth upon Lylat. There would be repercussions. The system would burn. But he was going to drag that bastard kicking and screaming to the very threshold and smile as he cast him down into his bloody damnation. If the federation must burn along with him, then so be it.

The gates groaned loudly as they swung inward, opening to the darkened estate beyond them, and Cromwell stepped out of the car. He wanted to march into his enemy's bastion a conqueror, not ride in like a guest. He was so caught up in his triumph that he hardly noticed his men step out behind him in the cool, crisp night air.

Sixteen years. Sixteen long years of clawing and scraping his way up from the bottom of one of the most insignificant houses on Corneria all the way to a bitter, blood-stained seat on the council. Six years spent in the fleet as a young officer, building his reputation. Seven years in the Bureau, eagerly making contacts, earning favors, and gathering secrets. The last three he had spent propelling himself through the political arena, pulling every string, calling in every favor, and using every secret to bribe, blackmail, and backstab his way to power. Sixteen years of deception, maneuvering step by agonizing step until he was in position to strike. There had been setbacks, of course. Losing the position of Consulate General to that insufferable Peppy Hare was one. Failing to intercept the Cipher in Sargasso was another. Either would have given him significant leverage, but despite all that, the time had come. It would all end tonight. Tonight, Lucile's death would be avenged.

Cromwell strode across the open lawn of the Touvier estate, the wet grass swishing in the darkness with each footfall. Each step brought him closer to the only lit window, to the light shining out from the room on the top floor where that bastard was being held, and oh, how he savored each and every one. The thought that he had made the man a prisoner in his own home was a small pleasure, but it was only a garnish for what was to come. He was going to look into Jacques' eyes, and he was going to watch the life pour out of him. Slowly. But not before he exposed the wretch for what he was, not until he made him watch all his plans, his entire house, everything he had worked for crumble and lay barren at his feet.

The thought put a vicious smile on his lips and a bit more pep into his step as he walked up to the two men standing guard at the estate's large double doors. His men. Men he trusted with his life. They opened the doors for him, and a chill ran up his spine as he stepped across the threshold. Once inside, he heard the doors close behind him.

His excitement must have shown. Julia, his mole in the CIA, one of the keys to his victory, smiled a conspiratory smile as she met him at the base of a set of twin spiraling staircases.

His own satisfaction wavered slightly at the sight of her. Julia. She looked like her – so much like Lucile. But her dark hair seemed to whisper of seduction and danger, where Lucile's was a thing of depth and comfort. Her green eyes danced as Lucile's had, but Julia's seemed unnerving, like the dance of a viper whereas Lucile's had been like a leaf dancing on the wind...

Some years ago he had sent out feelers to find someone he could use within the Councilate Intelligence Agency, back when he was working in the Bureau. Julia had appeared like a ghost, like the agency spook she was. Her appearance had always made him uncomfortable. She was like a shadow of his past, a twisted vision of Lucile's beauty, a cruel reminder of what he'd lost. Despite all this, she had been exactly what he'd needed, and they had worked together toward tonight's end ever since. She was his double agent. Someone close to Touvier. Someone he needed in order to get around Balefort and its infuriating adherence to ethics.

"What's wrong, Gregory?" She asked, raising a single eyebrow quizzically, "This is your moment. You should be pleased."

His mood taking a turn for the worse, Cromwell just nodded. It would all be over soon…

"But is this _really_ your moment, Gregory?" a sharp, cynical voice taunted him from the darkness at the top of the stairs.

Before Cromwell's stomach could finish clenching, Julia drew her pistol and fired two shots into the men behind him, her smile evaporating into a mask of ruthless discipline. As he stood in dumb shock, his shaken brain managed to wonder why the men outside weren't kicking the doors down at the sound of blaster fire. He felt numb as his previous assurance shattered. How was this happening? Where were the other's he'd left inside to watch the old man? Why weren't the men outside coming to his assistance?

Then his mind snapped back into action. He pushed down his shock and forced himself to think as he stared down the barrel of Julia's pistol. Those weren't his men outside. They had been, once. He had recruited them, trained them, worked with them. He thought he'd known them well enough to trust them. He'd been too close, too absorbed in his vengeance, his prize dangling so tantalizingly before him. He'd been careless. He wondered if the others had turned on him as well, if they'd been killed, or whether they had ever been his to begin with.

"Bastard," he growled, not at Julia, but at the man standing in the darkness above him.

"Come now Gregory," Touvier said as he walked, slowly, patiently down the stairs, his cane tapping on each step, "You played this game remarkably well. I haven't been challenged like this since I was a young man."

Jacques wore a smug smile on his wrinkled lips as he came into the light of the hall. Once at the bottom, he reached behind himself and tapped at the small of his back with a groan, "Well, a younger man, at least."

He came close, but stayed just behind Julia and her blaster, just out of reach. Cromwell's fury threatened to choke him as it burned up his neck, through his skull and into his eyes. The raw hatred pulsing though his veins with every beat of his sinking heart told him that nothing could stop him from killing this man! All the while the weight of Cromwell's own firearm on his hip was maddening as he attempted to gauge whether he could get off a shot before Julia could kill him. But, against it all, his forty-four years of life weighed in and told him without a shadow of a doubt that the woman in front of him would shoot faster, that she would aim for that space between the eyes that went directly to the brain and that she was very unlikely to miss. It told him to bide his time and to hope for an opening.

Touvier's smirk gradually dissipated, but his disdain was transferred to a sneer. "It's a pity. You had potential, Cromwell. I had hopes for you."

"My only hope for the last sixteen years has been to watch you die, old man," Cromwell growled, bitterly.

Jacques' eyebrows went up in surprise, and he looked off into the distance as if remembering something. "Sixteen years?" he asked, wistfully, as he leaned forward on his cane, "I see. Did you lose someone close to you that night?"

"You know that I did!" he barked, lips curling back to expose his fangs, "Lucile was EVERYTHING to me!"

The withered old man didn't look at him. He just shook his head.

"Collateral," Touvier said with an empty, unfeeling expression, "is the cost of progress. And you must forgive me, but I don't remember the names of each and every body I've had to step over to achieve my ends."

Cromwell's teeth ground down against each other as he fought to urge to reach for his blaster with every ounce of resolve he possessed.

Something like remorse flashed across Touvier's eyes as the old man turned to stare into Cromwell's own, piercingly, as if looking for something.

"Vengeance," he said, after a moment, "that is the name of your poison, Gregory. It has consumed you, and it has delivered you here to your undoing."

It was too much. His arm moved involuntarily, but before his hand even touched the grip of his pistol, firm hands grabbed his wrists from behind. His legs were kicked out from under him, and he was forced to his knees by men dressed in CDF uniforms. His pistol was removed from its holster, and his head was pulled back by the hair so that he was forced to look up at Touvier. He hadn't even heard them.

"Why?!" Cromwell screamed, "Why did she have to die? What could she have possibly done to deserve that?"

Touvier's brows sagged down to hide his eyes in shadow before he answered, "It was nothing she did, boy. It was what she knew. What they all knew. Andross had already abducted or gained the cooperation of far too many members of Progenitor, and once the cipher was taken we had no choice but to ensure that his assets would be limited. With our own agencies compromised, there was only one way to make certain he was denied access to any more project members. They had to be silenced."

"Progenitor…" Cromwell echoed. That's right, the old relic's pet project. A vicious smile played at the corner's of his mouth as he looked up at Touvier, "Your dirty little secret."

The old man's eyes narrowed with suspicion, but he said, "Everything about that project is on file, Cromwell, I have no secrets involving that."

He couldn't suppress it. A sharp cackle erupted from his chest before one of his captors silenced him with a painful twist of his arm.

Cromwell grimaced, but kept his smile and said, "Lying to a dead man is the same as lying to yourself, you know. Why do you think I chose now to try and kill you? Did you really think I would throw away the last half of my life unless I was certain I could destroy you?"

Touvier was silent for a moment as he gauged what Cromwell was saying. A trick he'd picked up from his years in the Bureau was reading micro-expressions, little facial twitches that gave away certain emotions. Touvier was concerned, but not nervous, not afraid of what he was insinuating, but by the creases in his brow, Cromwell could tell the old man didn't know what was happening outside this manor even now.

"And what is it that you think you know?" Jacques asked in a low tone.

"Oh, It isn't what _I_ know that should concern you, Jacques," Cromwell answered, smugly, "It's what all of Lylat is going to know in the next few minutes."

Touvier's eyes narrowed into slits. He gave a harsh gesture to the men holding Cromwell down, and he was jerked to his feet and dragged over to the next room. He was then shoved into a chair and held in place by the firm hands of one man while the other produced a length of black tac-line and tied his wrists. Then something peculiar happened. The man tying him down locked eyes with Cromwell as he went about his task. He recognized him. The man's name was Harold Dunwood, a sergeant now, but he'd been a fresh green private when he'd shown up to Cromwell for training. Dunwood was a family man – probably how they'd gotten to him.

The man made no sign other than that brief moment of eye contact, but as he went to supposedly check his knot work, he slipped something small and round into Cromwell's hand. Dunwood's eyes flicked up to Cromwell's again, briefly, and then he stepped away and stood behind him with his other captor. He knew what the man had just given him, what the little capsule held. It was a slim chance, but it was one he was grateful for. It seemed at least some of his men were still loyal.

Touvier entered the room a few moments later, sliding a wave-phone shut and dropping it into the pocket of the robe he was wearing. He inspected his men's handiwork, and once he seemed sure his captive was secured, he asked, "What have you been told, Cromwell, and who is your informant?"

Cromwell needed to keep this going until he could figure out a way to get close to Touvier. He needed to be within a few feet to have a shot, so he started to talk.

"What don't I know?" he cracked, hoping to bait Touvier, "I know the truth about Progenitor. I know how your house has remained so powerful in the years since the Treaty, the reason your seat has always been held by a Touvier. I know what Progenitor meant for you…and I know all about your precious _key_."

Anger – real, burning anger – flashed across Jacque's face and he glared at the men behind Cromwell.

"Out." he ordered, and once the two had left and closed the door, he looked over to Julia and said "Secure the room, my dear, and be very careful of what you choose to remember of this night."

He stood still, leaning heavily on his cane as Julia produced a suppressor from her breast pocket and switched it on with a high-pitched whine. All ambient sound from the world outside the room died, and she set about scanning for bugs, closing blinds, and locking doors. When she was done, she nodded to Touvier. He then walked over to a padded chair, seated himself across from Cromwell, and folded his hands over his cane, held out in front of himself.

"I want to know what you've learned, from whom you have learned it, and who you have told," the old man stated.

"And I suppose you expect me to give all of this to you for nothing?" Cromwell said, flippantly.

"You are in no position to bargain, Cromwell," Touvier answered, "I am affording you a gentleman's dignity, but if need be I can have Julia extract the information while I go into the other room and pour myself a glass of wine."

Cromwell raised an eyebrow as he looked over at the agent with a heavy sigh.

"That won't be necessary. Sorry, Julia, but I'm still not ready for a physical relationship," he said. He then looked back to Touvier and asked, "Should we start with what's ailing you? I have to say, I found it ironic when I learned that the thing your order so desperately perused is killing you."

Touvier's only reaction was to finger at a ring on his right hand. An odd trinket that Cromwell had never seen him wear before. It was a ring of plain iron, with what appeared to be an eye at its top.

"You people have manipulated Cornerian history for nearly two thousand years. You sowed secrets, raised dynasties, sparked feuds, wars, even genocides-"

"Stop rambling!" Julia interrupted, but Touvier calmed her with a soft gesture.

"And what has it gotten you?" Cromwell continued, "Nearly your entire order is afflicted with a disease you perversely call a blessing.

"Oh, but it must have been quite the shock when Andross betrayed you. How desperate must you have been? Having taken that venom into your body, feeling it creep through your veins, and knowing the one man who could possibly control it had left you to die. What was it you decided to call it? Anima? Yes, that was it. _Anima. _Life," he smiled, "See Jaques? I know what your poison is too."

"_Who_ is your informant, Cromwell," Touvier insisted again, "tell me and I will see that you are comfortably imprisoned rather than painfully executed."

Cromwell kicked his head back and stared wistfully at the ceiling, saying "How generous. But you may change your mind shortly..."

After a brief pause, he brought his eyes back down to meet Jacques' and asked, "Do you watch the news? I know you probably don't put much stock in it, since its mostly your own propaganda, but I think you'll find that CNS has a particularly interesting story tonight."

Jacques' face was becoming stony as his legendary patience clearly began to be tested. He glanced over to the video screen which rested neatly on a tastefully carved pedestal and motioned for Julia to turn it on.

The look on the old man's face when it was changed to the Cornerian News Station was everything Cromwell had been hoping for. The first image he saw was of the Pillar of Aumn. An ancient monument about fifty miles outside Corneria City. It was the location of the old capital of Cannes, center of the former Caninite Empire. The area was a protected historical site, nothing significant if you were ignorant of the truth.

A young man in protective gear stood in front of the Pillar with a microphone in his hand as he reported what was likely the story of his life, "Less than an hour ago, Cornerian Defence Forces initiated a full scale raid on the historical city of Cannes, and have barred all entry by civilian personnel, save this reporter and members of the CNS investigative crew. As you can see, they have issued all of us protective gear, as this is a very dangerous operation against seditious forces which, according to Colonel William Neville, leader of the CDF task force, have been responsible for...wait, wait, it appears some sort of entrance to a compound beneath the Pillar of Aumn has opened, and...yes, yes this is it!"

They man stayed well behind a group of men as they rushed the entrance.

"This is Michael Prayer, CNS News, and I am bringing to you, live, the raid of the secret complex beneath the Pillar, ladies and gentleman-"

Blaster fire erupted as robed men opened fire on the CDF forces and were quickly gunned down.

The man kept talking, but Cromwell was watching Touvier. The old man whispered almost inaudibly as he held down his anger, "that archive...is SACRED!"

Cromwell watched as the man reared to his feet, his cane forgotten. His spindly arms suddenly began to swell and tighten into sinewy muscle as glowing blue lines traced across every exposed area of his body. He turned on Cromwell, his eyes glowing blue and full of fury. In a blink, he had crossed the distance between them and held Cromwell by the throat and lifted him off the ground, chair and all.

Jacques hurled Cromwell backwards, and the wooden chair exploded into splinters as he collided with the ground. He held on desperately to the object in his hand, and, despite the pain, Cromwell laughed, looking up just in time to be lifted off the ground again and slammed into the wall behind him.

"Do you have any idea what you have done?!" Touvier roared, the lines on his skin forming little blue hexagonal scales as they crept up his neck.

Julia, unsure of what to do, held her blaster out toward both of them, and Cromwell smiled ruefully at her before turning his eyes back to Jacques.

"I know exactly what I've done, monster," he croaked, squeezing down on the little sphere in his hand until it cracked and hissed its contents into the air, "Vekker sends his regards."

That was all he could say as the gas constricted his lungs and locked his muscles so that his jaw clenched painfully. He caught sight of Julia, outside of the gas's range of lethal dispersion. She was coughing, but would probably survive, while Jacques, on the other hand, dropped him to the ground and reeled backwards.

There was a whining in his ears that drowned out all other sounds, and spots danced across his vision. Jacques fell to the ground in front of him and began to convulse grotesquely on the floor, and Cromwell knew he was likely doing the same. What did it matter? He had done what he had set out to do. And as he felt himself fading, he managed to look Touvier in the eyes, and watch as the life poured out of him. He fought back his own death, forced his eyes to stay open long enough to see the old man's thrashing cease, and his eyes fade as his soul left his body.

And that was all. Blackness consumed him, and despite his certainty that he would be joining Jacques in hell, he held a tiny spark of hope that he would at least be allowed a glimpse of Lucile in heaven.


	38. Chapter 38

**Old Wounds**

Somewhere far above him, the sky rumbled and lit the darkened world with a bright flash as droplets of rain steadily began to fall and hiss against the warm city streets. Fox wasn't alone out here. There were plenty of people out to enjoy the active nightlife of Corneria City's south shore, though many began to duck into bars and restaurants as the rain grew from a light shower into a downpour. Others produced umbrellas, and still others, like Fox, seemed unaffected by the change in weather. Probably too drunk or downtrodden to care. Fox's feet carried him, unbidden, down familiar paths in an ever changing city until he arrived, soaked to the bone, in front of a flickering sign that he was relieved to see still hung above the door of Prowlers. It was a bar he and Bill Grey used to frequent back when Fox was attending the academy not far from here. Before that, it had been his father's favorite bar when he and Fox had lived in the South Shore residential district. The place was just a hole in the wall, and not many people knew about it. It stayed in business largely due to a small clientele of antisocial alcoholics.

Fox reached for the door, ignoring the metal handle as well as the handwritten sign in the window that said "Pull" as he pushed the door open and walked inside. The door was a replacement. It was installed after the owner had been forced to throw out a rowdy patron, and they'd installed the new one backwards, so the handle was on the wrong side. The sign was a little trick that the owner liked to play, just to see if it was a regular coming in.

The place was as barren as ever. The bar took up the entire left side of the narrow, dimly lit space while the right was a row of small booths. There was only one other patron on the far end of room, near the bathroom, and he was slumped forward over his drink fighting to keep his eyes open. The bartender looked away from the vid screen as Fox walked in out of the rain and frowned. The news was on, something about riots starting all over the place. He stared at the flickering screen for a few seconds, realized he wasn't actually listening, and walked further inside. The man behind the bar was the owner, an old, grizzly bulldog of a man. Fox remembered him being a bit less old the last time he was here, and now the already loose jowls of his face seemed to hang down even lower while his eyes now disappeared under his thick eyebrows. He sniffed and shrugged and leaned onto the bar as he waited for Fox to take a seat.

"Don't recognize you, kid," he said, plainly as one eye appeared from beneath a raised brow, "Not that I'm complaining. Most people get discouraged on account of the door."

Fox nodded but didn't say anything as he walked over and dropped his weight into a bar stool that put his back toward the wall and said, "Been a while, Ben. I could use something strong."

The sound of Fox's voice seemed to tell the old bartender something, and he drew in a long breath, nodding as he blew it out.

"Yeah, I think I've got something that'll do the trick," he said, resting his chin thoughtfully on a loosely held fist. He seemed to mull something over for a short while before coming to some sort of decision. He didn't even come off the bar, just reached down with his spare hand and produced an old flask which he held for a moment. He frowned, whipped the dust of of it with his sleeve, then set it down in front of Fox.

And for just a moment, all of Fox's worries were forgotten. The flask wasn't anything special. To anyone else, it was just a small, battered steel container someone used to carry around their spirits once. But Fox knew this one. He recognized it immediately...he hadn't seen it since he was a kid. He slowly, reverently reached over to it and held it in his hand, tracing his finger over the two raised letters in the bottom corner.

J. M.

"So let me tell you a story," Ben said, casually, as Fox's reaction seemed to confirm the man's suspicions, "Since you look like you could use something to take your mind off your worries. Now there was this guy, used to be a regular of mine way back, shows up out of the blue lookin' like he's down on his luck. Doesn't say nothin' but order his poison, which is fine. People usually come here 'cause they wanna be left alone with a stiff drink, maybe lay some shit on Old Ben when they're ready to talk about it."

Fox looked up at Ben thinking the man was talking about him, but as he studied the old dog's distant expression, the bartender continued his story.

"This guy, though? He never says a word. Just comes in every night and orders the same drink. He asks for my strongest stuff, and he wants the glass filled to the brim. Then he dumps half of it into his little flask, and sits for about an hour without touchin' it. After that, he downs the other half, and leaves. This goes on for a few months, and I'm figurin' he's just a quiet guy that's got his routine, but one day he comes in, orders his drink, he pulls out his flask, but he don't fill it up. He just sits there for a long time, starin' at it. Then he says to me, he says, 'Ben...I gotta stop this shit.' So then I says, 'What are ya talkin' about? You givin' up drinkin?' and he says, 'I been comin' here and fillin' my flask and its gotten me through the day because I just don't want to accept what happened.' So I ask him what happened, and he says, 'my wife died, just before I came to Corneria.' I tell him that's rough, and I offer him his next drink on the house, but he turns it down. He gets this look in his eye and he says, 'I'm here drinkin' my sorrows away, and you know what my son's been doing? He's been studying to get into the Academy. He's been picking up the slack, cleaning up the house, cooking the meals.' he says, 'I'm his father. I'm supposed to be the strong one, but my kid is takin' care of me instead of me takin' care of him.' I says it ain't right, then he gets up, leaves his flask on the bar and he says, 'About time I start actin' like a damn father.' and that was it. He never came back. A few years down the line, though, his kid started comin' through, a candidate in that military academy, and I think that things are turnin' around for James and his boy."

"So why didn't you give this to him then?" Fox asked, staring at the flask in this hand as his chest grew heavy again.

"James gave that thing up on account of he didn't need it anymore," Ben answered, "When the kid came in here, all sharp and determined, I figured he didn't need it either. But you...you look like you need to take some time with it. Besides, last time you were in here, James was still alive. Ain't right for me to hang onto it no more."

It was like getting hit in the gut, but when he'd recovered a bit, Fox said, "Yeah, I guess. Thanks."

Without saying anything else, Old Ben set a square glass on the bar and filled it to the brim with a dark liquor that smelled like smoke and molasses. Fox tentatively picked it up, and held it for a while before carefully pouring out of one of the glass's corners and into the flask. About half went in before the little metal container was full, then Fox closed its small metal cap, and set the glass down again.

He remembered his father always coming home with this thing. For a long time after mom died, whenever he would look at Fox, he would pull it out and take a sip...

"So," Fox started, "Let me tell _you _a story."

Ben nodded, put his back against the brick wall behind the bar, and said, "Lay it on me, kid. It's what I do."

"A long time ago, that man that came in here to drink down his sorrows? He had a happy family. He had a son that admired him, a wife that loved him, though," Fox smiled warmly, "they could fight sometimes. Mostly about the man's choice of career. Mercenary isn't exactly a steady paycheck. But business was good. They were happy. This was all years ago, back when us Vulpans were still being eased into the Federation. A lot of cultural exposure trips in school, field trips to Lylation museums, and one summer the kid went to a camp on Katina."

"Sounds nice," Ben said, with a smile.

"His dad was off on one of his high flying adventures...the kid's bedtime stories were all about the shit his dad would do on a daily basis," Fox continued with a heavy sigh, "Anyway, like I said, he was off on a field trip with his class mates. I don't really remember much about it. What I do remember is what happened when the kid went back to Papetoon. That's where they were living before they came here. They got back, and they were met by soldiers, doctors, and men in bio-hazard suits. They took us...they took _them _all over to this hospital and told them that they couldn't go home."

Fox's hand tightened around his half-filled glass as his mood darkened.

"But he was just a kid, you know? He got scared, and this kid, he was always kind of clever... There was this old nurse that felt sorry for him, and that night he...he guilted her into letting him stay in a room by himself on account of 'he was scared and he couldn't sleep with all the other people around,' really laid it on thick. She bought it, though, and later that night he got out through the window. Kid was only on the second floor, and the building was built with rough bricks, so climbing down wasn't hard. He fell in the bushes, but he got away with a few cuts and bruises."

"Lucky," Ben said.

Fox just stared bitterly into his drink and said, "No. Would have been better if the little bastard had broken his legs."

He picked up the glass and took a long swallow before going on.

"You ever had lupin's pox?" Fox asked, roughly, setting his glass back down.

"Sure," Ben answered, knowingly, "everybody gets it some time. Little rash, uncomfortable as hell, doctor tells ya not to scratch, but ya do anyway. What about it?"

"Yeah, well...that's how it is for Lylations anyway. Its mostly the same for Vulpans if you get it when you're young. It hits us worse, and sometimes there some scarring from it, but its pretty rare that a child would die, especially if they're seen to. Adults, though? It jumps up to fifty percent lethal. Something about the immune system in adult Vulpans causes the virus to mutate."

"Fuck..." Ben said, shocked, "why the hell did I never hear about this?"

"Don't know," Fox said, "would have hurt the Federation's efforts to integrate us, I guess. Bad P.R. Anyway, they couldn't have really known at the time, and they did eventually make a vaccine once they realized how dangerous it was. Back then, though...you just isolated the kids that caught it and saw them through the whole thing until it was over. But not me. I was too damn ignorant to know to stay put, and too damn clever for them to keep me there...so I got away."

Drinking on an empty stomach, Fox could feel the alcohol going straight to his head as he dropped the narrative act.

"I didn't live too far from the hospital and I knew the area, so I made my way home. Took a few hours to walk, and when I got there, my mother was waiting on the front porch. The hospital had called her. So what does she do when she sees me all dirty and scared and pitiful?" Fox's face tightened from the pain that was welling in his chest, and he forced down another big gulp of his drink before going on, "She runs up and gives me a hug, tells me she's got me. 'It'll be okay, Fox.' That's what she said. But it wasn't okay. She drove me back to the hospital and held my hand while she checked me back in, and I...I remember them telling her she would have to check herself too. 'Exposure.' I remember them using that word. And she just smiled at me, the way she always did, and she said 'Well Fox, looks like we're gonna be roommates!'"

He was quiet for a long time before he shook his head, and wiped at his eyes, "We weren't though. I got put back in with the other kids, and she was taken to an intensive care ward. It happened fast after that. A few days. I got better...she got worse. They told me I couldn't see her, but the look in the nurse's eyes put a fear in me that I'd never felt before. I snuck over after hours when the staff at the hospital was low. I wanted to say sorry, show her a brave face, tell her I was gonna make it better, but...I never got the chance. The doctors were all so desperate they didn't even notice me until it was over. A couple of the nurses saw me and started crying...I was too dumbstruck to do anything but stand there."

"So, the reason that man, my father, came here every day, the reason he drowned himself in alcohol over and over...the reason his wife died, was on account of that stupid, reckless kid he was so proud of," Fox said, his voice rough and bitter, "and the day she died, sitting next to her bed, I promised myself...I promised that I would never be that careless again. Nobody was ever going to get hurt on account of my mistakes, and I would spend the rest of my life trying to make things right with the man who's wife I'd stolen from him. And do you know what the kicker is?"

Ben didn't look directly at Fox, and instead stared, somberly at the bar with his arms crossed as he asked, "What's that, Fox?"

"He never blamed me," Fox answered, "Even when he was a drunken mess, and I was cleaning up and cooking meals and doing all the things that my mother should have been around for, he never once said it was my fault. He took it all on himself and kept us afloat, and after a while he started to carry on...and I wanted to be just as strong as him. I got it in my head that I had to follow in his footsteps and that I was going to join the Academy. He was against the idea. He wanted me to go with him, join his mercenary team. He'd take some time off to train me, but no, I was...how did you put it? Determined?"

"Ain't nothin' wrong with makin' your own decisions, kid," Ben said, trying to comfort him a little. But that just made Fox angry.

"I was stupid," Fox answered, firmly, "and I was guilt ridden, and I wanted to get away from it for a while. I wanted to be trained by the best, just like dad, but looking back, I don't know what the fuck I was thinking! James McCloud was the greatest student the Academy ever graduated! If I'd wanted to be trained by the best, then I should have stayed and trained with him! But I didn't, I wanted to do it on my own, so off I went, and where was I when that son of a bitch Pigma turned him over to be a Andross's fucking lab rat? Well, I was off training in the goddamn Academy! And everywhere I go people would tell me the same shit: 'it isn't your fault Fox,' 'there's nothing you could have done, Fox,' 'these things just happen, Fox!' But they don't fucking get it! My mother died because I was reckless, and my father died because I was narrow minded, and no matter what I do or what anyone says, the fact is that I _could_ have done something about it, and it _is_ my goddamn fault!"

Fox realized he had gotten to his feet, and was breathing hard through bared fangs. He tried to regain his composure, but ended up just dropping back down into his seat and covering his eyes with a shaky hand. After a moment he went to finish off his drink but he was stopped by the voice of an unexpected visitor.

Guess she hadn't lost his trail after all.

"Fox..." Krystal said from behind him, but that was all she managed.

At first, he recoiled. Every muscle in his body went tense. But then he forced himself to relax, if only just.

"Hey, Ben, give us a minute, huh?" Fox asked, trying to pull himself back together.

Ben nodded, slung on a denim jacket from a hanger on the wall, and walked over to the bar's only other patron, who had somehow remained asleep though Fox's outburst. The old timer shook his customer awake, said, "Come on, Murphy, time to go. I'll walk ya home," and after a few moments, the two of them left the bar and walked out into the rain.

Once they'd gone, a silence followed as neither Fox nor Krystal, apparently, knew what to say to one another. It made sense. It had been four years since they'd really spoken, and for any number of reasons there were just no words. So it was in the silence that stretched between them that Fox noticed the story on the news again.

"...and while we will continue to give up-to-the-minute coverage of the raid, we take a moment to report an assassination attempt which took place minutes ago against council member Jacques Touvier. The councilman is in critical condition, but is alive and being treated in an undisclosed location. The attack, a lethal gas released into Touvier's home, initially claimed the life of fellow councilman and head of the CDF Gregory Cromwell, and hospitalized a senior CIA agent, Julia Milles. Are the Cannes raid and this assassination attempt connected? Could this be a reprisal by the recently uncovered shadow organization, or perhaps an unrelated act of terrorism in response to the ongoing blockades? More after this."

Fox smirked, and said, "System's going to hell in a hand basket..." then glanced over at Krystal. She was soaked, and her blue fur stuck to her skin in dark, glistening waves. She just stared at him with something like sympathy, and Fox forced himself to look away from those shimmering blue-green eyes. She was beautiful, always had been. He felt his feigned smile fade with a pang of regret, and said, "What do you want, Krystal?"

. . .

The words were like a slap in the face. After four years of silence, of trying to forget, after rushing here after him, the first words Fox McCloud says to her are _what do you want? _Krystal didn't know how to answer. What _did_ she want? Why had she followed him? Why had she stood outside in the pouring rain, listening to that horrible story as only she could, feeling every stab of guilt, every stomach wrenching wave of sorrow. As she stood there groping for an answer after everything she'd just heard, she reflexively cradled herself with her arms crossed over her chest. Even his appearance was something she had to reconcile with. Somewhere between here and Peppy's mansion he had abandoned his janitor disguise and now wore a bomber's jacket, and a pair of black cargo pants which he had bloused into the top of his boots. His fur was all dyed black, his eyes were the wrong color, and that scar. Was the scar real?

_Excuse me, ma__d__am, _a voice not belonging to Fox spoke up, nonetheless, from Fox's head, _I apologize on Fox's behalf, but he's had a rather difficult time lately and I think-_

"Orian, if you don't stay quiet I'm going to _find_ a way to shut you down," Fox growled.

"Who..." Krystal began, eagerly leaping on the chance at palatable conversation, "I'm sorry, but who is that? Orian? He spoke to me before."

Fox looked at her for a moment before deciding whether or not to answer, and as he did, Krystal felt a number of emotions well up inside of him. It was difficult, with that interference, but as he looked at her she knew for certain she felt sadness, and regret, and...very faintly...there was something warm, buried deep, something that she suddenly found herself yearning for, but the more she tried to reach out for it, the more harshly she was assailed by his other emotions. Anger, sadness, and regret, always regret. Now, maybe, she understood why.

"So you can hear him?" Fox asked, uncomfortably, "Guess that shouldn't really be a surprise."

She felt suddenly relieved. Fox's words were not unpleasant. He was at least making an effort to be civil.

"Shouldn't be. You never were the forgetful type," she said, almost teasingly.

Dear Lord, did she just flirt? Now? She shrunk back toward the wall and hoped he hadn't noticed, which, gratefully, he didn't seem to have.

"Yeah, well, Orian is...some software I picked up a while back," Fox said, answering her previous question, "He sort of came gratis with some implants, and now I'm stuck with him."

What was wrong with her? This man had broken her heart! Tossed her aside without a second thought. And yes, maybe now she understood a little of what he was going through, but, "Why?" she asked, somberly redirecting the conversation, "About your mother...why didn't you tell me, Fox?"

He looked away with a grimace and reached for a bottle to refill his empty glass.

"Don't!" Krystal shouted. Feeling instantly embarrassed by the outburst, she continued in a more restrained tone, "You always drink like this...You never came to me with your problems. You just shoulder it all yourself, and whenever it becomes too much for even the Great Fox McCloud to bear, then you run off and drown yourself in alcohol."

She blew out a frustrated breath as she realized she was lecturing him, and felt Fox begin to mentally retreat from her.

"Why can't you ever just let me in?" she asked, pleadingly.

"And why can't you ever leave well enough alone?" Fox practically hissed, "You think because you're a damn telepath that you've got the right to go digging into people's heads? That you deserve to know all their private thoughts, their memories...for what? Curiosity?"

"This has nothing to do with me being a telepath!" she rebuked, "It has everything to do with your inability to let people get close to you!"

Fox let out a sharp, harsh laugh. It was almost a bark, and it was so unexpected that Krystal was taken aback.

"I don't know if you've noticed, sweetheart," he said with a cruel snarl, "but getting _close_ to me isn't exactly good for your health."

"So what?" Krystal shot back, "So you keep everyone at arms length? Me, Falco, Slippy, the whole world? What do you think, that _we'_re safer that way? We all make our own decisions, Fox, we know the risks, and we don't need you treating us like children!"

"I was trying to protect you-"

"You were trying to protect yourself!" she said, cutting him off, "You can't handle the idea of more people you care about getting hurt, but do you even remember what we were all doing when you found us? Falco was in a gang! Slippy owed money to a loan shark! And I...I was..."

_Lost._

She stopped short of saying it, her throat tightening painfully. She had been, though. Wandering from one unfamiliar world to another, trying to follow the trail of whoever was responsible for what had happened to her home. She wasn't a detective, though, and everywhere she went she would only end up getting attached to someone else's cause, no money, no direction. Everything changed after Sauria though. For the first time in years, she had belonged somewhere. Star Fox had become her home. She'd had friends, and purpose, and comfort, and...she'd had Fox. And when Fox had taken that away, it was like being lost all over again.

"You're right, Krystal," Fox admitted with such earnestness that it took her moment to accept it. He pulled in a long breath and let it out in a quick puff, "it doesn't work. Doesn't matter how hard I try to keep things under control. I keep screwing up."

Krystal held a glimmer of hope, as, for just a moment, it seemed she might be able to win the argument and bring Fox around. He was finally listening, and it was difficult to describe, but in the same instant if felt as though that shell Fox always maintained began to relax. She unconsciously began reaching out for that warm feeling that called to her again, but then she stopped.

The feeling of hope she held dropped like a stone into her stomach as she felt that warmth begin to slowly grow cold.

"So why bother?" he said, chillingly, as he reached over to that bottle again and poured himself another drink, "What am I even protecting? A backwards federation? They're as responsible for what happened to my father as Andross was. My friends?" he chuckled and picked up the glass, swirling its contents thoughtfully, "Falco is going to do whatever the fuck he wants, and Slippy – God! – I've never met a more accident prone individual in my life."

"Fox!" Krystal tried to object, but he ignored her. He downed his drink in one go, blew out a satisfied sigh, and continued.

"Family? Can't really hurt them anymore. Lovers?" he smiled bitterly and curled his lip as said, "well, let's just say I don't rebound as fast as some people. Besides, they know the risks, right?"

The accusation hurt, and she instantly flushed with anger and embarrassment.

"How is Panther, by the way?" Fox asked, dryly.

She didn't even try to stop herself. She took one step forward and her hand whipped out, striking Fox across the right side of his face.

He didn't appear to react at all, not even the bat of an eye, and she felt no pain from him, no anger at being struck, nothing.

"That bad, huh?" he asked, unfazed.

Krystal wasn't sure what to do. She had argued with him a lot in the days leading up to their falling out, but never like this. Back then he had seemed so...how should she put it? Confident? Strong? It was something she had always admired about him. No matter what happened, he had always seemed so sure of his actions, even when he was steering blind. The unexpected never seemed to phase him. He had contingencies. When didn't have contingencies, then he would come up with something. He was fast on his feet, and sturdy, and even though he'd always born his cross alone, he never seemed to let it weigh him down for long. But those same qualities that made him seem so strong had also made him independent and willful. It was a cruel irony that the very strength she admired had turned on her, that day when he decided, all by himself, that she needed to leave. She had felt so betrayed.

Despite that, though, he had always carried himself with a sort of dignity. He believed he was doing the right thing. But now? Now he seemed...broken. Deep down, Fox had always had these bitter feelings, and Krystal had never known why, but he'd always kept them under wraps. Now he didn't seem to care while his armor was breaking apart and everything seemed to be oozing to the surface, like an old wound that never properly healed.

While she had slipped into thought, Fox had apparently cooled somewhat. He rubbed at his temples and blew a weary breath out through his nostrils.

"What happened to you?" Krystal asked, looking at this black haired reflection of Fox McCloud.

He smiled ruefully, and said, "A lot, actually...but I think I'm just tired. I'm tired of doing what should be the right thing and watching it blow up in my face," the image of a young woman, a striking, white haired collie with a red bow in her hair rose up, briefly, from his weary mind before he pushed it away, "I'm tired being jerked around, manipulated, fucked with," another image, this time of a fat Katinese man and thoughts of Corneria, "and I'm tired of getting stabbed in the back every time I trust someone." This brought on a quick series of images. First was Peppy, which was strange but felt like the most recent, then General Pepper, then Wolf as the memories grew more distant...

Krystal cringed inwardly with the expectation that she would be featured as well, but after a moment, she realized she wasn't. What did that mean? Didn't he blame her for what happened back then, during the Anglar Blitz? After what had happened with Falco, Krystal had naturally assumed that Fox...well, that he would have felt the same, and to be honest, she would prefer Falco's hatred to whatever this cold feeling was from Fox. At least Falco was straight forward. She knew how to cope with that.

"Guess I should thank you," Fox said with a friendly demeanor that belied what Krystal felt beneath the surface. He got to his feet and picked up a small, steel flask from the bar in front of him, staring at it intently as he said, "I feel a little better. Got my head straight."

He slipped the flask into a pocket on the outside of his pant leg and produced his wallet and a cred-stick. He tapped his card to the stick, keyed in an amount, and set the stick down on the bar.

As he made his way past her and toward the door, Krystal felt suddenly afraid. She hated herself for this, but she was afraid that if he walked out that door now, she would never see him again. Her hand shot out, but this time, rather than to strike him, it was to catch him by the upper arm, and in that moment of contact a rush went through Krystal's mind. Her eyes went wide as she suddenly found herself emerged in a chaotic storm of whizzing data and thousands of tiny voices. The world around her slowed to almost a standstill as it all overwhelmed her. She could feel it. A network of tiny machines in Fox's head. She could feel how it worked in tandem with Fox's mind, synchronized and obedient. She could feel the millions of other tiny machines moving through his body, chattering back and forth with the ones in his head in a simple, mechanical language, and she felt as though she could almost understand them. They seemed to notice her as well, and for some strange reason, Krystal felt as though they were waiting for something...instructions?

_Hm?_ The voice from earlier chimed, _Well, hello again! Very sorry, I didn't even notice you come in. Er, frankly, I'm not sure how you got in here, but I'm afraid you don't have permission to access Fox's systems. You see, he likes his privacy, and..._

The voice trailed off thoughtfully as a shift began in the language of the host of tiny machines.

_Cerinian? _the voice asked, thoughtfully, _Well, now that you mention it, that does sound __familiar._

While he chattered away with a thousand voices sounding much like his own, Krystal became aware of something else, something less mechanical. Something she knew. Somewhere in the boundary between Fox's mind and this mechanical system, there seemed as though there were a...leak, and as she focused on it, she noticed something strange. It was a little bird with long, sweeping tail feathers. It flew in a tiny loop, its beak nearly touching the tip of its tail as it went - around and around and around.

Loop. Loop. Loop.

She reached for it, and just as her mind touched it-

Fox came to a halt as her hand finished closing, lightly on his bicep. She blinked and realized she had only been in there an instant. She held onto his arm and looked up to see that he was intentionally not looking back.

"What do you-" he began to say, but was interrupted by the voice in his head.

_Fox, _it said,_ this woman is Cerinian!_

_ "_And?" Fox said, giving a tug to free his arm, "What about it?"

_I..._Orian began, but then stopped, _well_ _I'm not sure. But its important! I just have to remember why. In any event, she just accessed all of our systems, and they seemed rather eager to respond to her. Very interesting. I believe this warrants further study, don't you?__ Let's keep her!_

This _Orian_ seemed so excited about his discovery that he was literally beside himself, splitting over and over again with new branches of thought until he eventually re-coalesced into a single voice which said, _Please?_

"She's not a lost pet, damn it," Fox growled, "and we're not _keeping_ her."

Krystal straightened a bit at that.

"Why not?" she asked, staunchly, "What if I want to come along? If you really don't care anymore one way or the other, then why not let me do as I please?"

"Dead weight," he said, plainly as he walked out the door.

Krystal followed him, riled.

"You know that isn't true!" she said.

"Besides," Fox went on, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked, oblivious to the falling rain, "What would Wolf have to say about that?"

She blew out an exasperated breath and said, "Are you still on about that? I didn't come here with them, alright? I came here with Slippy, Katt, and Falco!"

Sure enough, that gave him pause.

He turned an eye her way, and for the first time since they had started talking he looked almost happy. She felt suddenly jealous as she realized that the mention of Falco's name had brightened Fox's mood, even slightly. The feeling he gave off was like someone had told him his favorite sibling was in town.

"Falco's here?" he said, frowning to conceal a lopsided smile.

She pushed down her feelings on the matter and decided to just go with it.

"Yes, and Slippy and Katt," she said, "We've been all over Lylat trying to find you. Come with me, Fox. I..._we_ want to help you."

"Falco, huh..." Fox said, feeling as though he was on the cusp of agreeing. She could feel him teetering, wanting the familiar company of his friends. Just a little push and-

Krystal's phone began to ring, and she whipped it out quickly and tried to hang up, but in her rush, she hit the wrong button by mistake.

"Krystal? Thank God!" Panther's voice rang out on speaker, "I've been trying to call you for days! Why haven't you answered? Where are you? Call trace says your in...Corneria City? What are you doing there?"

Krystal's whole body clenched as she felt Fox tip the wrong way.

"Tell Falco, next time I seem him I'll buy the drinks, alright?" he said, radiating a sudden hostility as he started walking again, "He'll know what I mean."

"Fox wait!" Krystal called after him, "Just wait, will you? This isn't what it sounds like!"

"What isn't what what sounds like?" Panther's voice protested from her phone, "And did you say Fo-"

She jammed the 'end call' button on the screen so hard it hurt her thumb, then went to follow after Fox again.

"Damn it, Fox, so what? You haven't been with another woman since we broke up? None at all?" Krystal challenged him.

She instantly regretted asking. Part of her wanted him to admit that he had, for vindication, while another part dreaded knowing that he had been with anyone else. Either way, she wasn't expecting what she got. His hostility was instantly joined by frustration, loneliness, and a brief yearning that brought color to Krystal's cheeks.

"That's none of your damn business," Fox growled, marching on with a hungry, sunken expression.

She was dumbstruck.

Four years?!

Amusement and a wave of unexpected relief washed over her, but both were quickly consumed by a feeling of guilt that rose from the pit of her stomach. She reacted aggressively.

"I don't believe you," she lied.

"You're a telepath."

"You're being unfair!" she protested.

"Not my problem."

"You can't blame me, can you?" she shouted over a clap of thunder.

He shook his head and shrugged, marching on evenly as he said, "Not really, no."

She wasn't sure what was more frustrating. His denial that it was blatantly bothering him, or the fact that if she wasn't telepathic then she wouldn't have been able to tell.

"Fox McCloud!"

The voice hadn't been Krystal's. It had been shrill, muffled against the rain but nearby.

"Fox McCloud! I know that you're here, somewhere, so...so come out this instant!"

Fox's ears wilted forward slightly, and he gave off the emotional equivalent of a groan.

A moment later a large, bright red umbrella appeared from around the corner of a nearby building. A pair of well toned legs emerged from beneath a dress that appeared to be torn off at the knees. They ended in a pair of red rubber boots and carried the umbrella, which then rocked back to reveal the rest of a young, white haired collie girl holding a PDU in her free hand and staring intently into it as she held onto the umbrella in her left. She looked like she couldn't be any older than twenty, and Krystal realized she recognized her. They had never met, and Krystal had not idea who she was, but she had been one of the images in Fox's mind.

The girl looked up at Fox and emitted a barrage of emotions. Happyness, relief, anger, and...

Krystal's eyes narrowed into slits.

...and something she had no right to feel. She glanced over at Fox to see if he felt the same, but he didn't, which gave her a small bit of peace. He was smiling though – a big, guilty smile accompanied by a feeling of amusement.

Was there anyone in the entire galaxy other than Krystal that Fox _didn't _want to see?

"That didn't take you very long," Fox said, like it was a joke.

The girl didn't seem amused. She stomped her foot, which then caused water to splash up onto her and made her jump a little.

"Is that..." she said, whisking the water off her legs, "Is that all you have to say? You just left me back there, and my Aunt, she said you'd gone, and I didn't know what to do until I remembered I had bugged you! Then I chase you're signal all over the bloody city until you come here to this...this...wherever we are presently, and-"

"Fay...Fay listen, you're kind of hysterical," Fox said in an appeasing tone.

"I am NOT hysterical, I'm ANGRY!" she fired back, hysterically, "You _promised, _Fox McCloud, ON YOUR HONOR that you would not try to leave me behind again, and I was worried about you and, and...and..."

Her jaw quivered and her eyes welled up as grief flooded over her, "And uncle is...he's dead now, and you abandoned me!"

To which Fox said, rather sappily in Krystal's opinion, "I know, kid, I know. Look, your Aunt cut me a deal, and I took it. She offered a lot of money and a ship that can get me where I need to go in exchange for me leaving you here with her."

"That isn't for you to decide!" the snooty little thing objected.

"Look, its like a contract. I accepted the terms, so now I have to follow though," Fox explained, smoothly, holding up his hands in a calming gesture and flashing a charming, lopsided smile that would melt butter, "I took the money, I'm going to go take the ship-"

"But-" it whined.

"-then I'm going to go get my things from your place-" Fox continued.

_You're place?! What things?!_ Krystal screamed into her own head, keeping most of her distress off of her face.

"-Nothing I agreed to says I have any control over what you do, now does it? I'm going to be at your place for a few days to plan out my next move. So that's where I'll be." he said, suddenly giving this Fay woman a more serious look, "But you need to give some serious thought to your Uncle's last wishes. The man loved you like a daughter, you know that, right?"

Fay averted her eyes, and as she calmed she then became morose, squeaking out a response. "I know that."

Krystal cleared her throat loudly.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, but, Fox, who is this person?" she asked, as lightly as she could through the acid in her throat.

The girl seemed to notice Krystal for the first time as she spoke, and at first her eyes widened and darted between her and Fox. Then she straightened, composed herself, and smiled a smile that was both sociable and venomous at the same time.

"You must be Krystal," she said, her tone turning sickly sweet and very proper.

"I'm sorry," Krystal said in return, "but I don't think we know each other."

"We've never met," the girl said, "I only know of you by..._reputation_."

Fox's charming facade melted. He brought one hand up to cradle his temple as if his head were about to split open and then stuffed the other back into his pocket.

"Fay, Krystal. Krystal, Fay," he introduced, flippantly, "Now, if you ladies'll excuse me, I really have to be going."

"Fox!" both women protested in chorus, causing them to shoot one another harsh looks.

"Fay, when you figure out what you wanna do, you know where I'll be," he said, walking off and waving back to them, "Krystal...it was good seeing you again. Remember what I said about Falco."

_Falco can go __**directly**_ _to hell!_

Her attention turned to this Fay person as Fox rounded a corner on his heel and left the two of them in the rain battered street. The young woman was a veritable storm of emotions, but they were all direct and honest. She almost felt like a less intense, female version of Falco Lombardi. Krystal found herself feeling threatened and irrationally hateful toward this person.

With Fox out of site, the collie turned to Krystal. She looked at her down her nose with a judgmental, aristocratic air. She looked her up and down, then, without saying anything, turned and walked away. But as she turned, just as she turned away, she let Krystal see a little smile that said, _He picked me_.

Krystal wanted to claw her eyes out, but she just took a deep, slow breath instead and calmed herself.

What _Fay_ didn't know was that during the entire exchange, Fox hadn't felt even a flutter of what this little girl had been feeling toward him. He was all masked anger and frustration, and was under too much pressure to even consider her.

And what did it even matter, anyway? Why was Krystal getting so worked up over this? She needed to calm down. She needed to go back to Katt and the others, and then hunt Fox down and _force_ him to come to his senses.

This wasn't over.


	39. Chapter 39

**Mr. Slippy Toad**

Slippy was alone in his hotel room up in the third floor of the Valmont. It was an inexpensive hotel chain you could find in just about any major city across Lylat. This one was a bit nicer than what you might normally expect, though – probably because this was Corneria City, and everything. Valmont hotels were never bad, but they also usually weren't this nice. The bed was soft, the televid was really big, and there was a desk with a cozy chair for him to set up his holo-camera and hook his wave phone into it.

He dialed the house number into the phone, hit send, plopped down into the chair behind him, and a second later it began to ring. And ring...and ring. For a moment, Slippy's heart began to sink as he wondered if anyone was even home. He had some time to himself, which was rare, and he'd even considered the different time zones for Corneria and Aquas before he called. It should be about five o'clock back home. The kids should be home already, and-

"Got it!" Riley exclaimed, jubilantly as his bright young face appeared above the camera. He had a bit of dirt caked under his little green chin and above his right eyebrow, so he'd probably just gotten home from practice. He still had on his jersey. Striker. His son was an aspiring athlete! Slippy had never liked sports much, but once his son started playing peewee striker, he'd suddenly gotten interested. From what he'd grasped, it was all about getting the ball into the other team's goal, and you couldn't use your hands, and Riley was really good at it! He was the goalie, so he kept the other team from scoring.

"Hi Dad!" Riley said, followed almost instantly by his younger brother, Tino, who's face poked up, just barely, from behind the couch. Tino hauled himself up with all his tiny might before Amanda came into view, her belly showing, prominently now, that she was pregnant as she smiled at the camera. She then helped Tino into a seat on the front of the couch, and eased herself down too.

"I'm a explorer!" Tino said, instantly trying to climb mount Sera-couch-y again, straining his flabby little red limbs as he struggled with the furniture's unforgiving terrain.

Slippy laughed as a warm feeling spread all over him. He loved his family. And he missed them. He'd never been away from them this long before, and it was harder than he thought it would be.

"Hello honey," he greeted his wife, happily.

She chuckled her happy little chuckle, the one that never failed to light up Slippy's day, and said, "Hello yourself, hon."

He loved her accent. It wasn't very pronounced, just a bit of a twang. She was a Bayoon girl, born and raised. She used to have a tomboyish wild streak before she'd decided she wanted kids, and when she wanted something, she got it.

"I'm makin' galla and cheesy sticks tonight for the kids," she said, smiling as both of their sons gave an excited little hop, "wish you could have some."

"Yeah, me too," Slippy said, trying to sound woeful but woefully unable to wipe the smile off of his face. How could he not smile, watching his kids bounce around like that?

"You know, I wish you'd stay off of your feet, Amanda," he said, a little concerned, "we make enough for you to hire somebody-"

"Oh for heaven's sake, hon, I'm pregnant, not crippled," she said, "besides, you _made_ enough, before you decided to go gallivanting off with Falco doin' God-only-knows what...have you been watching the news? Because I have, and I'm scared Slippy!"

"I'm with Falco and Katt, honey, there's nothing to worry about. And, technically, I'm on vacation," he offered, appeasingly.

"For another week!" Amanda scolded, "What then?"

"Yeah, daddy, what then?" Tino jibbed in with a big, playful smile.

Amanda popped the child, lightly, on the behind and said "Don't you go mouthing off to your father!" Which made Riley smile ear-to-ear at his little brother's instant discomfort.

"I'll get you next, young man!" she said, waving a finger at Riley.

The whole thing made Slippy laugh, which made it difficult for Amanda to keep up her angry and authoritative routine.

"I love you," Slippy said, as soon as he was done laughing.

Amanda gave up trying to look stern and said, "I love you too, hon...promise me you'll come home soon?"

Slippy's smile faltered.

"I'll try," he said, "I miss all of you..."

She looked like she was about to respond, but the door flew open behind Slippy, and Falco came barging in.

"Fuckin' useless assholes!" he barked, slamming the door behind himself and shaking his head, "Call themselves informants, an' all they give me are fuckin' excuses! Wouldn't know their own ass from a hole in the ground!"

Slippy made a number of rapid hand gestures trying to get Falco to stop.

"And where the hell is Krystal? We should be combing the damn streets, rippin' information out of peoples' heads! The one time she might actually be useful, she runs the fuck off!"

"Falco!" Slippy finally protested.

"What?!" he yelled back.

Amanda cleared her throat loudly, and Falco's eyes fell on the holographic image of Slippy's family. His anger faded and turned into a guilty smile, and the Avian rubbed at the back of his neck bashfully as he said, "Oh, uh...hey Amanda, how are ya?"

"Fine, though I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't keep adding to my kids' vocabulary," she answered, coolly.

"Uncle Falco! Uncle Falco look!" Riley said, excited to see his godfather as he jutted out his chin and pointed to the muddy spot above his eye, "This guy was gonna score a goal today, and he was talkin' a lot of shit, but I stopped it with my face-!"

POP!

Amanda caught Riley with a smack in the back of his head that made is little eyes bug out.

"Using that kind of language!" Amanda scolded, "Slippy, honey, I'm going to start dinner. Falco, you watch that mouth of yours around the kids! I'm getting tired of tellin' you! And Riley, you go ahead and have some soap for an appetizer, see if that doesn't get you thinkin' about proper speech, young man!"

"Yes ma'am," both Falco and Riley answered at once.

Slippy said his goodbyes to his wife and kids, and waved to little Tino until the signal cut. He sighed a happy, lonely sigh, and shut off the camera.

He looked back at Falco, who smiled at him sheepishly, and after a moment, they both started to laugh.

"Riley is starting to talk like you," Slippy said, with a big grin, "He does your accent pretty good. He looks up to you, you know."

Falco looked guilty again and said, "Yeah, I noticed that. Kid needs to find a better role model."

Slippy shrugged easily and said, "It drives Amanda crazy, but I don't know. There's worse people he could take after."

That made his friend smile. The smile then sharpened and Falco said, "Guess it could be worse. He could take after his old man."

"Screw you too, Falco!" Slippy shot back with a big grin.

Falco shrugged, obviously pleased with his quip as they both fought not to laugh again. As they enjoyed a friendly silence for a moment, Slippy found himself envying Falco just a little. Slippy was smarter than his friend. They both knew it. Not that Falco was stupid, he just wasn't a very thoughtful person. He could always say what was on his mind, though. He had a thought, he said it, clear and straightforward, and to the point. Slippy, on the other hand, had a lot of thoughts, and he was very articulate in writing. That was part of why he'd managed to stay employed writing reports at Space Dynamics. He just...he just couldn't _speak_ his mind. Somewhere between his brain and his mouth there was some sort of filter that seemed to be damaged beyond repair or understanding.

In a word, he was clumsy.

"Seriously, though, we're in the friggin' capital!" Falco said, his smile starting to fade while his anger resurfaced, "We should be doing something...productive! I don't know. You get a hold of Krystal? She might actually answer her phone if she sees it's you."

"I...I don't have her number," Slippy said, "I thought you did."

"Why the fuck would _I _have it?" Falco fired back like he'd been insulted.

They stared at each other for a moment, Slippy blinked, at at the same time they said, "Katt?"

Falco nodded, walked back to the door, opened it up, and yelled, "Hey, Katt, do you have Krystal's number?" across the hall to his and Katt's room.

She called back, "Yes, I'm already talking to her."

Her voice grew louder as she walked from the other room to join the two of them, saying, "She's coming up the elevator, and she wants us ready to move."

"When did that bitch start givin' orders?" Falco spat, disgustedly.

Katt just shook her head and said, "She says she found Fox. He's here in the city. We have to move fast."

In an instant, Falco became a profane blue blur, streaking past Katt and across the hall to his own room and spewing a litany of curses and well seasoned hate that ended in something like, "-and I'll be damned if he gets away again!"

He reappeared with his holster strapped to his body beneath a leather jacket. The butts of two pistols protruded from it, a knife was sheathed to his ankle, and a belt with a number of magazines and sealed pouches, containing what Slippy was sure were a veritable cornucopia of ways for the Avian to express his hatred toward all living things, hung around his waist.

"The fuck, Slippy, get a move on!" he said, snapping Slippy up and tossing him his side arm, holster and all, from the bed. He fumbled with it, and almost dropped the gun on the floor before catching it solidly between both hands and slinging it over his shoulder.

They had just made it to the elevator when it pinged, and the doors slip open, revealing Krystal, soaked to the bone and just switching off her phone. They all got inside, Katt first, then Falco, then Slippy. He felt his excitement growing as his heart beat away in his chest. Fox was here! This was probably the closest they'd been since they started. Maybe he would be heading home soon, after all!

"So where is he?" Falco asked with a sudden, stern professionalism, "How long ago did ya spot him? Were ya able talk to him, or no?"

"I...we talked," Krystal answered, seeming upset, "It wasn't far from here, but I think he's on his way to a ship at the MacDane estate. We have to catch him before he gets offworld."

"What?" Falco asked, "If you talked to him, then why the hell is he leavin'?"

Krystal seemed to ignore the question, rapidly saying, "I got a picture of a young woman he was with, and some of Peppy's contacts identified her as Fay MacDane while I was on my way here. Her aunt supposedly furnished the ship Fox is using, and...and..."

Krystal's hands shook slightly. It was an easy thing for Slippy to notice, since they were practically at eye level.

Katt placed a hand on Krystal's shoulder and said, "Krys, slow down. Tell me what happened. Did you tell him we were here to help him?"

Krystal was quiet as she took a few breaths, and turned her face away.

After she'd composed her self a little bit, and the elevator doors slid shut, she said, "I did, but...we started fighting."

Falco slapped his palm to his forehead, and exclaimed, "Oh for the love of...! You scared him off?! God damn it! If it had been me, or Slippy, or anyone else...! What did ya say to him?!"

"Falco, that's enough," Katt came to Krystal's defense, "She found him, which is more than any of us could manage. Now you said he's probably going to the MacDane estate? That's with the other rich people, over on the other side of the lake, right? It'll take at least twenty minutes to get over there. How long ago was it?"

"Maybe ten minutes ago," Krystal answered, "I doubt he has the ship ready to launch, so that should give us more time, but we need to hurry. And, Falco, he said to tell you that_ the next time he sees you the drinks are on him_. He said you would know what that meant."

Falco was quiet for a moment. Slippy understood. Every time one of them was down on their luck, back in the old days, the other two would buy his drinks. Then, when they cheered up, they'd return the favor. It had become something of a ritual between the three of them. Last time was after the Anglars. Falco told him about it. He had bought Fox his drinks, but Fox disappeared not long afterward. This was just Fox's way of letting Falco know he was alright.

"Bullshit," Falco said, "If he's back on his feet, then he's buyin' my drink today!"

Krystal looked confused, Katt didn't have an answer for her, and before Slippy could even attempt to form the words to explain, the door opened behind him and everybody rushed out. Slippy running to keep up as they all moved through the lobby, out the door, and into the falling rain.

. . .

The rain stopped. Fox's fur was still wet and matted to his skin as he stepped out of his recently...'acquired' car. He left it with the key inside and the engine still running at edge of the estate's private landing pad as its headlights shown at his back. He had called ahead, and a service crew was just finishing up on the pre-flight check as he walked across the open pad and over to the late General's private vessel. It wasn't a bad looking ship, dart-shaped, sleek design. Barely noticeable were a pair of laser cannons just under the forward positioned cockpit. It was a diplomatic shuttle, but it had a few basic defensive amenities. If he was lucky, though, the clearances built into its I.D. transponder would be enough for him to bluff his way past any trouble until he could swap the ship out for something more versatile and less conspicuous. He could think of at least a half a dozen individuals who would be chafing at the bit to get their hands on a ship like this, if for nothing else than to gut it for that same transponder. Being able to transmit a diplomatic signal could prove useful to certian enterprising men of ill repute.

For the time being, though, he needed to get off of this world. Too many people had identified him already, and if he didn't get out of here fast, then there was good chance he wouldn't be able to get out at all.

The sight of Krystal, eyes and fur all glistening in the dim light of that bar came to mind again, and he winced. It had been so long that he'd almost forgotten how beautiful she was. Part of him regretted that the first thing they'd done in four years was get into another fight. She wasn't always like she had been back there. In fact, that was pretty rare. She could be caring, and intelligent, and playful. She had this way of getting under his skin that...well, he kind of liked it. She had sort of just _understood_ him, and Fox was well aware that that wasn't always an easy thing to do.

"The ship's all ready, sir!" a young Venomonian said as he walked up, shading his eyes against the parked car's headlights, "Its been a while since the MacDanes have had her taken in for work, on account of the old guy's health. God rest him. Any idea why they're having it fixed now, at this time of night?"

Fox gave the guy an easy smile and shrugged.

"Beats the hell out of me. I'm just the company pilot. They send me out to pick up these rich folks' ships when they need 'em fixed." he said.

The kid rolled his eyes knowingly, and said, "Yeah, I hear you! There's a gripe code on in the cockpit. Don't mind that, the fuel rod sensors in these models are a piece of shit, that's all. We've taken good care of her. Should be the smoothest ride you've had in your life!"

_Ever flown an arwing?_ Fox thought to himself.

"Thanks," he said, patting the young man on the shoulder as he walked past.

As his boots made the first step on the boarding scaffold, Fox instantly felt a familiar relief. He was headed back into space. It never failed. It had always made him uncomfortable, being planetside for too long, and it would feel good to be adrift again.

_Spacer._ He thought. It wasn't a new term, but ever since those hillbilly bounty hunters, he couldn't help but hear it with a country twang. _Guess that's what I am._

As he climbed the steps, musing to himself, he realized that he was woefully under-equipped for what lay ahead. He'd left most of his gear in the Great Fox's armory, and those salvagers had probably picked the whole ship clean by now. As a rule, Fox kept a number of hidden weapon's caches in various places throughout Lylat. Closest one to Corneria this time of the solar year would be...Fichina? No way he was going back there anytime soon. Next closest would have to be Fortuna, though. It was a bit of a stretch, but he was going to have to make a pit-stop there to resupply on his way to Fay's place, back on Zoness.

He was at the door, and about to seal it behind him, when he heard a loud metal 'BANG' followed by the sound of approaching levicoils and a screaming engine. He looked, and a taxi was barreling toward the pad, the gates to the estate flung open after being rammed and buckling the entire front of the vehicle.

Fox's eyebrows went up in momentary surprise as he wondered who this could possibly be. Plenty of people would be trying to stop him, if they knew where he was, but no disgruntled taxicab drivers came to mind.

He got his answer moments later, as only a split second after the cab came to a halt, Katt Monroe jumped out of the front passengers seat. She was immediately followed by Krystal, who was just holstering her sidearm. Guess she was telling the truth about who she came here with. He waited a second to see if Falco would step out next, but he didn't. Neither did Slippy. The cab driver, no longer at gunpoint, immediately spun his vehicle around and fled the scene. Fox frowned, but shrugged it off and sealed the door before making his way to the ships cockpit. No sense sticking around for another argument. He had places to be, people to hunt, carpe to diem.

He got to the pilot's seat and strapped himself in, noticed the light the mechanic had mentioned, and disregarded it as instructed. Something like that little light would have bothered him before, but it didn't seem to now. He really was grateful to Krystal for their earlier talk. Looking back, it was pretty stupid of him. Life was just to damn uncertain to think you could plan for everything, and, honestly, he had done nothing but shoot himself in the foot while trying.

He spooled up the ships engines and activated its levicoils, retracting the landing gear as the coils took the weight.

From here on out, he was going to do whatever he wanted. Whatever felt right to him. If he was wrong, he could deal with the fallout himself. Not a big change from the way he conducted himself before, just a new perspective on things. It actually felt pretty good.

He saw Krystal shouting into a wave phone below as she tried to talk to someone over the sound of Fox's ship preparing to take off. If it was the local authorities or the CDF, then that could be problematic...

But then, what the hell? Nothing ever came easy, and Krystal had to do whatever she believed was right. Who could blame her?

Orian chuckled, making Fox smirk and ask, "What?'

"Oh, nothing," Orian said, "Just happy to be heading back into space, the same as you. Though I have to say, I'm enjoying your new attitude. It's like you've turned the lights up in here a bit."

"Yeah, well," Fox said, raising the ship's elevation to a safe height as he pushed forward on the throttle, "Don't get used to it. Give it a few days and I'll be back to my_ tortured, brooding self_."

He said it jokingly, but he really wasn't sure how long this high he was on would last. If he was at all honest with himself, he was probably just in shock after trying to process everything he'd recently learned, a ticking time bomb waiting to go off on the next poor bastard that got in his way. He could feel it at the edge of his thoughts – this sort of all consuming, bitter spite. For now, though, he felt good, so, "Lets just enjoy this while it lasts, huh?"

"Huzzah!" Orian answered, with mocking pomp.

He pulled back on the yoke, turning the ship skyward as the engines pushed them ever faster. The mechanic hadn't been too far off. It wasn't the smoothest ride he'd ever experienced, but it was pretty damn close. He had a designated flight plan to Zoness with a diplomatic clearance, so it should be easy going. He would follow the flight plan until it reached the planet's jump gates. There were always people who got impatient waiting on the gates and decided to jump, so he'd wait for the inevitable and when some ships broke off in favor of their own warp drives he would divert and jump to Fortuna. There should be no way of picking his warp trail out from the others.

_Soun__ds__ good!_

As he cleared the planets atmosphere and the ship's artificial gravity kicked in, he set in the proper course and put the ship on autopilot. He then stood and went to check out the passenger cabin. It should have some kind of bar, and his earlier buzz was just starting to wear off. He spotted it, a little liquor cabinet beside a table which was ringed by a circular sofa. He walked over and started to peruse the late generals private stash when the ships proximity alarm went off back in the cockpit and a little chirp let Fox know he was being hailed.

He frowned. There's no way his cover would already be blown...was there? Had Krystal _actually_ called the damn CDF on him?

The comm. chirped again, and Fox gave a resigned sigh as he closed the cabinet and made his way back into the cockpit.

He stared at the instruments for a moment before finding the comm. controls, then answered the hail, saying, "This is the shuttle..." then stammered. He'd forgotten to get the name and designation of the ship, "...of the MacDane family. Please respo-"

"Cut the shit!" Falco's voice fired back, angrily, "I know its you, Fox. What the hell, man?!"

Fox looked out the front viewport and saw that he was flanked on both sides by a pair of arwings. One, flying dangerously close, had a very ruffled looking Falco Lombardi mean-mugging him from its cockpit, while the other, a much safer distance out, had the barely discernible green form of who Fox assumed was Slippy Toad.

Fox scratched at his cheek with one finger as he said, "Hey...uh, Falco. How have you been, man?"

"How have I...?" Falco started, visibly beside himself with what looked like anger from where Fox was standing, "HOW HAVE I BEEN?! I've BEEN all over Lylat lookin' for ya ass, and...fuckin...oh-ho-ho, this is fuckin...I aught'a..."

He was clearly too angry to speak, and Fox felt pretty bad. He hadn't exactly considered how Falco had been taking this whole situation. Fox being labeled a criminal, face plastered all over the news...

"Is that..." Slippy's voice joined in suddenly, sounding disappointed, "really all you have to say to us? _How have you been_?"

Fox felt his brow twitch in agitation. Okay, he got it, he was in the wrong, but he really didn't have time for this, and he felt bad enough without having to hear Slippy stammer a sob story.

"Look, Slip," he started, but that was all he was allowed, apparently.

"SEVEN YEARS!" Slippy shouted, suddenly, over the comm., "You don't call, you don't visit, you don't even fucking write?! We're your friends! We were worried! I got married! Falco was there! Peppy was there! -"

"Slip," he tried, in vain to interrupt.

"Even Katt was there, damn it! After the Appariods, you just dropped off the face of the world, and I don't hear anything until three years later when Falco comes in all fucked up because you left him on Papetoon without saying ANYTHING to him or anyone?! That was a DICK move, Fox!"

"Hey, uh, Slippy, really, that's wasn't a big-" Falco awkwardly attempted to defend himself.

"No!" Slippy said, hotly, "No, I defended Aquas all by myself, did you know that? They gave me a medal! But that was okay! I knew you probably had your reasons! But now, we've been all over the place looking for you! I've been in jail! I haven't had dinner with my family in weeks! All so we could find you! And what is the first thing you say after all that? 'How have you been?' Well guess what, Fox, we haven't been great! But you're still our friend and we want to help you! And_ by the way_ I have two kids now named Riley and Toni and I want them to meet their Uncle Fox, so you need to stop all of this stupid crap and come with us so we can FIX this mess!"

There was a long, long silence after that as they all blinked back their surprise. Fox couldn't believe that had all come from Slippy...

Falco was the first to speak.

"Uh...yeah," he began, still a little cowed, "what he said. So turn that boat around, we'll all go have a beer, and we'll talk like men." Falco said, "Like old times, huh Fox?"

Fox smiled, feeling strangely proud of old Slippy, and let out a heavy breath as part of him really wanted to take them up on their offer. It had been a long time since they'd all gotten together.

He sat down in the pilots chair, leaning over onto its armrest so that his right temple rested against his closed fist.

It wasn't that he'd been avoiding them. He had spent the better half of the last decade on his own and, well, he just hadn't thought about it...two kids? His stomach sank a little as he realized how badly he had neglected his friends over the years. It seemed like yesterday they were a band of womanizing bachelors plus Slippy. All single. Just kids themselves, really.

"So," Slippy said, sounding much calmer and a little embarrassed, "How about it, Fox?"

He smiled pensively.

"Like old times, huh?" he thought, aloud.

Another chirp from the comm. Told him he was approaching Corneria's orbital gates, and he went to answer the gate authority's hails.

"Shuttle Fidelity, I have you on a flight plan to Zoness. I you will please respond and transmit your manifest, we should be able to see you on your way in about twenty minutes." a curt voice said in a well practiced tone.

Fox didn't respond right away, and the man asked again, "Shuttle Fidelity, please respond."

_So, what's it gonna be?_ He asked himself, hesitantly, both comm. lines awaiting an answer.

Before he could make a decision, his proximity sensors went off again as first one, then two other streaks of light ended in a series of flashes not far off. Three small ships came out of warp one after another. They had been close enough to trigger the sensors, but far enough away that he couldn't get a visual without zooming in on them. What he saw filled him with a cold, biting hatred.

Three Wolfen class fighters, one farther ahead while the other two lagged considerably behind, coasted out of warp and seemed to be headed for the planet's surface.

They were on the night side of the planet now. When he and Fay had first arrived here, it had been on the side facing the sun, but now he could see what appeared to be the entire Cornerian Federation Fleet holding a massive formation around a number of orbital naval stations. He eyed them nervously as a small detachment of cruisers broke away and began to approach, apparently due to the unexpected arrival of Wolf's team.

"Be advised, Fidelity, unauthorized warp signals have been detected in your vicinity. Please assure your diplomatic passengers that we have alerted the nearby fleet, and they are sending forces to secure the area. You are to stand by and await further instruction."

. . .

"-you hear me, Caroso?" Wolf snarled over the comm., "You're a dead man!"

Panther ignored the man's threats. There were CFF forces closing on their location, and O'Donnel probably wouldn't stick around for it. They had been above Fichina a scant forty minutes ago when Krystal had finally answered her phone. He had only called her on a whim, but as fate would have it, she finally answered. When he'd run the trace, he could hardly believe it when it had said she was in Corneria City, of all places! It had been such a short jump from Fichina, only fifteen minutes these days. They had only just arrived in the other world's orbit to speak to some flea-ridden mob boss who claimed to have information on the 'Issue of Mr. McCloud,' as he'd put it. Contemptible man, that Viccini character. Needless to say, once he realized how close Krystal was, he had changed course immediately. He wasn't going to allow her to keep avoiding him forever.

He reached over and turned on the black box transponder so that it transmitted the latest coded signal for 'military contractor,' and waited to be hailed. He saw both Wolf's and Leon's signals change as well, and a moment later, his comm. beeped.

"Attention unidentified Wolfen-class ships, we read your I.D. signals as friendly. You are instructed to power down your vessels, identify yourselves, and await a customs scan by gate authorities," a rather impatient sounding man said through Panther's speakers as the military vessels continued their approach.

Wolf had to play along or risk exposing himself to the entire Cornerian Fleet, so the short-tempered man wouldn't be able to do anything until they were on the ground, and then only if he could get Panther away from prying eyes. For now, he was likely busy selling their supposed identities to the fleet officer who had just spoken.

O'Donnel be damned! If he wanted to fire Panther for this, then so be it! Honestly, that cynical old bastard probably wasn't even _capable_ of loving anyone, let alone understanding how Panther felt about this entire ordeal with Krystal!

He powered down as instructed. The ID boxes and other provisions Governor Bowman had given them for their mission should be more than enough to appease these people, and after a short delay, he would head down to Corneria City, call Krystal and finally sort this whole thing out!

That was when his comm. beeped a second time. He raised an eyebrow and patched it through, and as he did, he was instantly assailed by a hostile Avian he had the misfortune of knowing.

"What the fuck are you doin' here?!" Falco Lombardi asked, accusingly.

Panther snarled back, his voice a dangerous, low rumble as he said, "I'm here to speak to Krystal. I know that she's been traveling with you. Since you've been so kind as to make your presence known, you may direct me to her current location, and I'll be on my way."

While he spoke, he identified the source of the man's signal. He and one of his cohorts were in a pair of arwings which flew alongside an important looking ship. It looked to be the personal transport of someone of standing, and was currently transmitting as a diplomatic vessel.

Before Panther could really wonder as to whom they were escorting, the craft broke their little formation and made for a pack of nearby ships, all of which seemed ready to jump to warp.

"Fox!" he heard the avian say, apparently unaware of the fact that he hadn't switched comm. channels.

Panther's blood curdled. Krystal had been talking to Fox McCloud when Panther had called before...

"Did he just say 'Fox?'" Leon asked, curiously.

"That's what I heard," Wolf answered, "Panther, if this goes right, I _might_ not kill you. Now hold your position and wait while I hail that shuttle."

A fierce hatred boiled up in Panther's breast as he realized who was in the fleeing ship. This was all _his_ fault, after all! Krystal had been distant for a while, but it was nothing they couldn't have worked through. Then that story came up on the news about McCloud and off she ran! Well, lets just see how concerned she is when Panther hauls that mongrel back to Venom in chains! He'd show her exactly what sort of man Fox McCloud was, and he would prove to her that he, Panther Caroso, was the far better choice.

He powered up his ship's engines and brought his weapons online as he set in a pursuit course for Fox's ship.

"No! Damn you, Panther, that ship is flying a diplomatic flag!" Wolf bellowed, "They think its a noble-!"

Panther cut off Wolf's signal and continued after his prey. A few seconds later, Wolf and Leon's fighters moved to follow, but they were soon intercepted by Fox's little escort.

Arwings and Wolfens clashed in a flurry of laserfire and Panther's comm. lit up with activity as the closing military vessels sent their warnings.

"Back off, assholes!" Lombardi shouted before Panther cut him off as well.

Ahead, the shuttle jumped to warp, probably planning to hide his trail among the other jumping vessels. It may have even worked on a lesser man, but Panther had exceptionally sharp eyes. He had his navigation computer trace all the most recent jump trajectories, keeping his keen focus honed on the path the shuttle had just taken until one appeared which matched perfectly. He traced it, set a matching course, and a few moments later, he jumped after him.

McCloud was not going to get away!


	40. Chapter 40

**Fortuna**

Fox slammed one of his only two ammo cells home into bottom of his pistol and secured it, firmly, into the waistband holster that hung from the black tac-belt around his hip. As he stood in the passenger cabin of the shuttle, anxiously preparing for what lay ahead once the ship dropped out of warp above Fortuna, he checked to make sure his gear was secure, either on his belt, or in one of the cargo pockets of his dark green trousers. He really wished he were close enough to one of his other caches. This world was...unpleasant.

Early attempts at colonization had ended in tragic failure due to the unique flora and fauna hosted by Fortuna. When he was a kid, Fox remembered seeing horror movies 'based on the true events of the Fortuna colonists.' From orbit, the world appeared to be lush and green and inviting. Once you made landfall, though, you realized that everything on the planet's surface was actively and aggressively trying to kill its way to supremacy. It was survival of the fittest taken to an extreme. Colonists attempting to build permanent structures would go to bed surrounded by sturdy stone walls, and wake up with vines creeping in through cracks and newly formed holes while tree sprouts pierced up through the building's foundation. Clearing areas by fire only resulted in explosive growth in the newly opened tracks of land, while herbicides found to be effective one day would become useless within a week, and all of these things were just a garnish.

His brow furrowed as he thought about it. Then he dropped his weight down onto one crouched leg while the other suck straight out to the side in a runner's stretch. Had to stay limber.

If the weeds weren't enough of a discouragement, the pests would be. There were a large number of local species of fauna, various animals and insects, none of which to date possessed any sort of intelligence above a sometimes unsettling, feral cunning. There were no prey species on Fortuna. There were only predators occupying different niches on the local food chain. The little ones got eaten by the big ones, and the biggest ones were either eaten by swarms of their smaller rivals, or by the more aggressive of the world's agricultural wonders. All in all, there were only three types of people who came to Fortuna. The scientifically curious, the idiotically fearless, and the mindlessly desperate.

"Oh, fantastic," Orian said as he audibly blanched, "Can I wait on the ship?"

"I don't know, can you?" Fox asked, hopefully.

To which Orian gave a despondent, "No..."

Fox laughed nervously, and began to jog in place to get his blood flowing.

"Don't worry," he said, in part to reassure himself, "I've made this run before. There's nothing to it."

It was simple. Clear the landing zone, mark your target, move quickly, secure the objective, return before your ship can be overgrown – maximum window of about one hour for a solo operation.

Nothing to it...

This got him a groan from the A.I. as Fox started to got his center and began to shift through a few martial stances. Hopefully nothing would get close enough that he'd need to physically fight it off, but you never know. Besides, the familiarity of the routine was a small comfort against his uneasy nerves.

"Fox, I can _feel_ your anxiety in here," Orian said, "If you're going to lie to me, at least have the courtesy of sinking into a state of denial first. Otherwise you're only patronizing me."

This made his lips pull to the side in a bloodless, fanged smile before he answered, saying, "We can choose what we believe, not what we know."

"Hm," the program mused, "an interesting statement. Who's was it?"

Fox heard the signal from the instruments up in the cockpit indicating that the ship would soon be exiting warp, and he got moving.

"James McCloud," he answered as he went, "My old man was always handing out this, um, _fortune cookie wisdom_."

That's what his mother had always called it. Hearing it aloud after so many years brought on a number of bittersweet feelings that he was forced to push aside in favor of the needs of the moment. He sat down in the pilot's seat and focused on guiding the ship smoothly out of warp as the streaking stars all around the cockpit returned to their natural state and a vibrant green and blue world appeared in front of him.

He blew out a nervous breath as he looked down on the planet from his safe vantage, high in orbit. It was a particular kind of discomfort he was feeling – familiar in that he knew what to expect, but no less unnerving for it. It was a churning in the stomach accompanied by heightened senses and a firm tension in the muscles. He didn't fight it. Better to let this sort of thing run its course. Let the adrenaline do its job, and keep him on edge. Down there, it could be the difference between life and death.

"So then, why is it that you _choose to believe_ your cache of weapons could possibly have survived, given what we _know_ of this planet's environment?" Orian inquired, sounding quite pleased with his demonstration of the newly offered concept.

Fox's smile widened, "See, that's the genius of it-"

Before he could finish the sentence, his instruments issued a warning. Another ship dropped out of warp close behind them, and before Fox could even identify it, a stream of laserfire flashed across his port side, growing closer with each shot until a number of them splashed against this shields and rattled his teeth.

Already on an adrenaline high, Fox quickly shook off his surprise at having been followed and snapped into action. He began evasive maneuvers, rolling the ship upward and arching around toward the attacker. Whoever this was, they didn't seem to be too interested in talk. His instruments blared a lock on warning, and, almost too late, he activated its electronic warfare suite. A second later a concentrated ball of plasma charged past his ship, missing by a scant few meters before growing unstable and bursting in the distance. There were only two ships capable of firing guided plasma charges like that while also putting off a warp signature as small as the one that had followed him. One was the Arwing.

The other was the Wolfen.

Sure enough, one of the quad-winged, bulky menaces went streaking past his shuttle as he attempted to maneuver behind it. Of course, it avoided him easily. This shuttle wasn't your average transport, but it clearly wasn't designed with winning dogfights in mind. If he stayed and tried to fight, he wouldn't stand a chance, and the odds of his outrunning his attacker were hopelessly low.

Was it Wolf? Had he followed him? Were the others on their way? It could only be one of three people behind the stick of the attacking craft, and Fox had little love for any of them, but if this one was Wolf...

He attempted to hail the ship, but the only response was a renewed salvo of glowing hate as the obnoxious little shit managed to get behind him again. He realized there was only a handful of outcomes if this kept up. He wasn't ready to die, truth be told, and he wasn't in the mood to surrender peacefully. That only left fight or flight, and so, with only a moment's hesitation, he turned a concerned eye to the world beneath him, said a little prayer, and began a rapid descent, the massive solar body engulfing the entire forward viewport as he dived down toward it.

"Um...Fox?" Orian spoke up in an anxious tone, "Not to second guess you, but I'm afraid this vector is not conducive to a safe reentry from our current position. Perhaps if we were to adjust our course by-"

"I know what I'm doing," Fox said through gritted teeth. The shuttle began to shake violently as the vacuum of space quickly gave way to the resistance of the planet's atmosphere. They flew downwards with mounting speed, propelled by the ship's engines and compounded by the pull of gravity. He couldn't hope to outmaneuver or outgun a Wolfen in this bucket. He had to do something that would take away as much of his opponent's advantage as possible, and the rigors of reentry should go a ways in evening things between them.

He reached over to the shield controls and started manipulating the ship's shield harmonics until they became visible as a wavering energy filed continuously washing across the front viewport. Satisfied, he looked up to check his altitude: about 60,000 feet.

If his pursuer wanted to keep up, he would have to be charging downward as dangerously as Fox was, and neither ship was designed to fight during reentry. This would work. This had to work. If it didn't, then Fox was about out of options.

The whole world suddenly began to slow as Orian began running a battery of calculations, his echoing little voices rapidly multiplying until he thought his head would explode. Fox drove the palm of his hand into the side of his own head, hard. The world went back to normal, bringing with it a fresh throbbing sensation for company as he said, "Just trust me, damn it!"

Fox scanned a particular piece of the planet's surface until he found what he was looking for. As he did, the shuttle plunged through a layer of thin, wispy cirrus clouds. 20,000 feet. The massive overgrowth of Fortuna's surface was rapidly becoming more distinct as they plunged, tongues of flame licking at the ship's forward edges. The shield systems began to give off a warning due to the excessive buildup in energy which was actively being absorbed and trapped on account of the particular harmonics he had set. Too much longer, and there would be an overload. In a way, that's what Fox wanted, but-

The ship was rocked hard as the pursuing Wolfen managed to get a lock, despite the rough descent. He was firing wildly as shots darted past Fox's ship on all sides, and only occasionally landing a hit. Fox brought up a rearward visual on his heads up display, watched the buildup in the shields, and once he had the Wolfen directly behind him, pulled back on the throttle and fired the ship's front-facing retro rockets, rapidly decreasing his speed. His opponent tried to evade, but it all happened too fast, and the Wolfen was following too closely in its attempt to score a hit.

The oncoming fighter rolled left, hard, but its two right wings collided jarringly with the rear of Fox's ship. The instant it did, the shuttle's wavering, dangerously overloaded shields reacted with the higher-frequency of the Wolfen's shield harmonics, and in a violent flash, the two were blown apart. The Wolfen's wings were sheered off as it was sent hurtling down toward the planet, arcs of bright blue electricity enveloping both ships as every warning light and alarm imaginable screamed in protest of what Fox had just done. He struggled to regain control as his flickering display read 5000 feet, and one system after another began to fail. The ship spun end over end as he struggled to get it to level out, a solid sea of green jungle canopy growing closer by the second.

He was spiraling clockwise and fired the opposing stabilizers until he managed to get the spinning under control. 2000 feet. With less than 500 feet between the tips of Fortuna's tallest trees and the nose of his ship, Fox hauled back on the yoke with everything he had. The ship began to level out in a sickening moment as momentum, thrust, and gravity all fought one another for supremacy, and Fox's heart rose into his chest as he growled, "Come on, baby, come on!"

Almost...almost level...

With a spine crushing jolt, the right side of the shuttle impacted with the sturdy trunk of an exceptionally tall tree. Fox lost all starboard stabilizers, thrusters, and levicoils as the shuttle whipped sideways and plummeted down into the overgrowth. His world became a symphony of violent impacts, wrenching metal, and splintering wood as he careened down through plant life that towered like skyscrapers. The ship skipped off a huge branch and faced skyward, and in a last act of desperation, he hauled back on the yoke and pushed the engines to their maximum, hurtling the shuttle through a narrow space between two enormous trees before it then plowed into the ground in a plume of black, upturned dirt and shredded undergrowth while the impact slammed Fox's head forward and into the console.

. . .

Panther's head lurched viciously as he blinked back against the blackness encroaching at the edges of his vision. He fought to stay awake, knowing that allowing unconsciousness to take him would mean almost certain death on this unforgiving world. Eventually, the blackness yielded, and after a moment, his eyes flew open. He reached over and threw the emergency release on the canopy, ejecting the clear top of the cockpit upward and away from his ruined, burning Wolfen.

Damn him! Damn that man! Was he out of his mind? Marooning them both on Fortuna?! That trick he'd pulled never would have worked under normal conditions! Ramming another ship during reentry? Overloading his own shields? The man was insane! He had damn near killed the both of them!

The weight of the situation fell onto Panther like a ton of bricks as he angrily tore off his safety harness, stood, and staggered out of the cockpit. There was no time to lose. Enormous trees towered all around him as he jumped down into the smoldering swath his Wolfen had carved into the ground. Once on his feet, he checked himself over for injuries. He was roughed up, to be sure, but it was nothing fatal.

He ran his hand along the mangled hull of his battered ship until he found the panel he was searching for. He pressed it firmly causing a small panel to then hiss and slide upward to reveal a code pad. He entered his password and a moment later a much larger compartment opened beside it. Inside was his luggage. He tossed it aside angrily, scattering cases of clothing across the floor of the jungle until he uncovered an array of his favorite weapons behind them. He adjusted the pistol holster he was already wearing as he reached in a pulled out a semiautomatic blaster rifle, RM-308 field model, and hung it over his shoulder by its firing strap. Next he pulled out a snub-nosed Pyrex-440 plasma caster, and hung it by the anchor on his waist belt. He wouldn't be able to carry the ammo cells for this one – too bulky – but she should have enough in her for about six shots. Short range, but devastatingly effective. He then reached in and produced a grenade belt which he wore like a sash. All four grenades attached were CRX-111 Cyban gas canisters. A powerful nerve agent. He'd received these as a gift from an old friend of his in Sargasso, an arms dealer he used to work for. He'd kept them for a special occasion, like a case of fine cigars. Next was his headgear, a sealed helmet with navigational and combat support systems built into its heads-up display. And, finally, last thing he reached in for was the most vital of all. He pulled it out carefully, and strapped it to his waist by its carrying belt – an emergency canteen filled with two quarts of clear, filtered water.

As he slipped on his helmet, he pressed a button on the lower jaw and the smartfoam at the base tightened seamlessly against his neck. Seconds later, the helmet's visuals came online, his vision in the dark of the forest floor improved, and his navigational systems got their bearings. As he gazed into the dim light of Fortuna's brutal shadow lands, he switched on thermals.

Nothing.

He sighed his relief and relaxed ever-so-slightly, switching the thermals back off for the moment. It was likely that the crash had scared everything off for a few miles. This would afford him a head start, but if he didn't get a move on, it would be wasted.

Twice in his life, Panther had joined hunting expeditions to Fortuna. You banded together with a team of other skilled hunters. On entry, your ship would burn a hole in the jungle with its laser cannons, land in the smoking crater, and the holding team would deploy with plasma casters to burn back the vegetation and wildlife while the hunting team would foray into the jungle in search of a prize. It was the ultimate test of a hunter. The first time, Panther and his team had been in the jungle for four hours, and in the end they had lost three men out of a team of twelve. The second time he had gone in with a smaller group, only eight men. Their hunt had barely lasted thirty minutes, and Panther had been one of only two badly wounded survivors. His thrill-seeking days had ended back then, and he had instead begun a pursuit of more cultured game.

His ship was a lost cause. Having everything he needed from it, he immediately left it behind, making his way quickly and quietly through the undergrowth. He had heard of men, completely insane men, who had hunted Fortuna alone. A solo run here was suicide. Returning alive, much less with a kill, required skill, focus, and a supernatural amount of luck, and out of the hundreds that had foolishly attempted it, there had been a mere handful who had been successful. Panther didn't know about luck, but he had skill, and while he was certain that without a working ship it wouldn't be enough to save him, it might prove sufficient for him to hunt and kill his prey.

As he moved, tiny vines seemed to creep underfoot, trying to snare his boots as all larger, thicker vines hung down all around him, some with poisonous fruit, some with bright red thorns, others which seemed to shift and tighten as he walked past. At one point, he was forced to stop and find a way around a patch of mushrooms. He had seen them before. If you stepped on one, it would release a cloud of spores which stuck to your airways. They would grow within a few hours and suffocate their host. He cursed as he carefully made his way around them. As he did, he noted the distinctly manlike shape in which they had grown. After he was past them he proceeded, gingerly at first, and then with mounting assurance as he put space between himself and the murdering fungus.

With the bearings provided by his helmet's display, he was certain that McCloud's ship had gone down in this direction. He moved quickly, hoping the man had survived the crash so as not to be spared a death at Panther's hands. This was his fault! Panther had planned to take him alive! If anyone had told him that McCloud was capable of being this reckless, he would have laughed. The man was supposed to be careful, almost meticulous, not brazen and foolhardy. Now, unless McCloud's ship was miraculously in better shape than Panther's own, they were both going to die here!

A sudden snapping and hissing interrupted his thoughts as his keen, well honed reflexes snapped his rifle up in the correct direction just as a massive insect tore out of a wall of vines, a thousand scuttling legs propelling a long, flat, bladed body toward him like a thrusting sword. Panther instantly unloaded a burst of shots into a pincered head the size of a small car, each blaster bolt creating a rain of smoldering chitin as they tore into the creature.

It recoiled as the flesh beneath its exoskeleton sizzled and popped, barely giving Panther enough time to roll behind a relatively small tree before it swung its body around like a whip, cutting deep into its trunk, then pulling itself free as its legs kicked in a flurry that resembled the whirling of a chainsaw blade.

In an instant, it retreated back into the dense growth, sliding through the walls of green like quicksilver and leaving Panther nerve-wracked and narrow eyed as he scanned and listened for more.

Realizing he had to keep moving, he left his cover and regained his previous course, trying to slow his ragged breathing as he went. He'd never seen that particular species before, and he hoped he would never have to see it again. As he moved, he regained his confidence. The monster had tried to kill him and failed. Panther was the hunter, here!

He marched though the underbrush for nearly ten minutes after that before cresting an overgrown hill and seeing a plume of smoke rising through the trees ahead and to his right. He smiled, and cut through the underbrush on his way down the hill, arriving at a saddle between it and an adjacent hill. He followed the saddle downward toward the crash site until he began to have to weave between massive fallen branches and debris. By the look of the ruin the ship had left in the wake of its descent as well as the smoke rising not far off, Panther now had little reason to hope McCloud's ship would be functional. As to what shape McCloud was in, himself, he would have to move in and find out. As a precaution, he advanced the rest of the way carefully, his rifle at the alert, aimed slightly downward with the buttstock firmly in the pocket of his shoulder. He glided forward at a controlled clip, placing each foot in front of the other with care, knees slightly bent so that he almost glided toward his target.

He moved along the path of destruction until it came into view. He could tell that from his position he could see without being seen, and he used his visor to zoom on the crash site. As he correctly suspected, the shuttle was in no better shape than his Wolfen had been. Its hull was battered and broken, torn, jagged metal in places revealing the ship's ruined inner workings as smoke poured upward from the burning fluids which seeped from its engines.

No signs of movement.

He scanned with thermals, but the wreck itself was giving off too much heat to distinguish any biological sources, so, weapon now up at the ready, he moved out into the clearing the ship had made around itself. When he'd reached the ship, he put it at his right, staying close to the mangled hull as he approached the open hatch. It was difficult to tell whether the hatch had been opened from the inside, or if it had simply popped open after the crash, as it was bent outward at an odd angle, like it had been torn open forcefully.

Taking a deep breath to steady his resolve, Panther pushed onward and cleared the hatch, rounding his way inside so that the business end of his weapon lead the way. Looking to the left, he found the cockpit. The forward viewport was shattered on one side, and the console was broken, a number of instruments broken and flickering as the ship retained the last of its power reserves. He noticed something and moved in closer to investigate. Once he was close enough to see it properly, he frowned. On the controls, directly in front of the pilot's seat was what appeared to be a moderate amount of blood splatter. A head wound, maybe? Still, there was something odd about it. As he lowered his weapon and leaned forward for a closer look, it occurred to Panther that the blood looked to still be wet, but despite that, it looked almost too dark.

His face curled in disgust as he suddenly realized, looking closely enough, you could see the blood _squirming. _He backed away, disgusted, as, right before his eyes, it changed from a dark, almost purple color and began to separate into deep red, and dark blue elements respectively. The blue blood began to coalesce, building into a larger and larger mass as the discarded red blood simply ran down the machinery and began to dry as one might expect, until eventually a coin-sized, blue, viscous mass had formed. He stared at it for a moment, wondering-

It suddenly sprang toward him, making him shout and leap backward in surprise. It missed him by a hair and landed in a pool of coolant on the deck, whereupon it slid, much as the large insect he previously encountered, fluidly across the ground and disappeared into the ship's exposed machinery.

"What in the hell _was_ that," Panther breathed.

After a moment he shook it off and began searching the rest of the ship. The passenger compartment looked to be in complete disarray as well. Broken glass littered the floor around a broken bench seat and a cracked table. The wall mounted vidscreen lay halfway across the room, broken almost clean in half on the ships buckled floor. Loose cables and insulation hung down in clumps and strands here in there thought a thick smoke that clung to roof. No sign of Fox. He inhaled a bit of smoke which immediately made him start coughing, and he decided to move on.

Fox wouldn't have gotten far. If that had been his blood, and if, as Panther suspected, it had been from a head wound, then he was likely disoriented. He began searching for a trail at the edges of the clearing, trampled plants, broken stems, more of that man's...odd blood, but he stopped cold as a call sounded through the nearby jungle. It was a haunting wail that lasted about a second and a half.

He swallowed hard. If it was alone, then there was little to fear. One wail meant it was just out there somewhere, warning Panther to stay away from its territory. As long as there weren't-

Two more answered the first, these ones, sounding farther away, were fainter, but also lasted much longer. The first had been a scout. Behind him, the vanguard was summoning the others, and now the rest of the pack would be closing fast.

Panther turned on his heels and sprinted full tilt in the opposite direction of the sound. His own quarry forgotten as he became consumed with the sudden overwhelming desire for self-preservation.

The scout that had originally given away his position charged after him from somewhere in the brush. He couldn't see it, but he could hear it driving forward on those massive forepaws, dull, heavy thuds as they struck the earth, snapping branches and crushing the bed of vegetation across the jungle. Every so often in its pursuit it would wail into the dense jungle air to let its pack know Panther's location, not closing in for the kill, not yet, not until it had its pack. It just followed him, tracking him while leading the others to their meal.

Leaves, vines, small branches all whipped at Panther's face as he charged headlong through it all, painfully aware that a misstep _could_ mean the end of him, but that slowing down most certainly meant _would_. He cleared a fallen branch as tall as a full grown Aquan in one jump, managed to land on his feet, and resumed his sprint, but as he did a shadow fell over him as the perusing beast did likewise.

A lychon. The wiry black fur which came to course points all over its body shook like needles as it landed behind him and continued its charge, its broad, flat head concealing a maw of jagged, razor sharp teeth as it watched him with its beady black eyes. It was roughly half Panther's size, but he knew from experience it had easily twice his physical strength. Its forelegs were enormous masses of muscle ending in dexterous, clawed paws which it alternated between using to propel itself forward, and occasionally swinging on a low hanging branch or vine, every so often tilting its head back and wailing for its pack mates.

He aimed his rifle to the rear as he ran, resting it roughly against his shoulder, and began to fire wildly until he heard the creature yip sharply and crash to a stop in the underbrush. Shortly after, he heard it begin to wail again, this time in obvious pain until, mid wail, it was suddenly silenced. Wounded animals didn't last long here.

Too late, though. All around him he could hear the thunder of its pack mates running through the jungle all around him. They all began to yip and snarl at him, only appearing as they dashed through a clearing to his left or right. Panther's heart hammered so fiercely that he felt it in his temples, his lungs burning as he charged onward desperately.

Then he heard it. A wail unlike the one from the little scout or the vanguards or any of the other little monsters. This one was louder, sharper, more authoritative. The leader. It was signaling for the pack to move in for the kill.

And move in they did.

Panther ripped the plasma caster off of its anchor at his waist and brought it up just as the first one leapt out of the foliage, the recoil from the weapon almost made him drop it as it unleashed a concentrated ball of plasma which caught the beast in its ribcage, launching it back into the dense green jungle as it exploded in a ball of flame and sizzling meat. Massive, clawed arms swung at him from the trees, one cutting into his side with a burst of pain. But he couldn't stop now, even if he wanted to. His body was pumping every ounce of adrenaline it could produce through his system in a last plea for life as his legs carried him on in what he knew was a hopeless effort. He fired over his shoulder again, wildly, until he heard another yelp of pain practically sound in his left ear, assuring him that the wounded animal had been right on his heels.

He fired another ball of plasma at a lychon as it swung out in front of him to cut him off, incinerating its head and dropping its body in his path. He tried to jump over it, but the tip of his boot caught the creature's corpse, and he crashed to the ground dropped his rifle, rolled a few feet, and came to stop.

Staggering, he got to his feet, pulled out his pistol, and brought it and his caster up, prepared to go down in a blaze of glory, but as he scanned for targets, he found himself in an open clearing. Knee-high, blood red grass swayed back and forth all around him, and his pursuers all sat at the edge of the treeline, staring at him with those beady eyes and wailing in distress.

But they didn't come any closer. They just stayed at the edge of the trees. None of them would come into the grassy opening. Not sure what was happening, and still weary of the lychon pack, Panther reluctantly risked a quick glance around himself. Then another to confirm what he'd just seen.

Behind him was some sort of facility. The jungle had been too thick to see it until he had stumbled out here, but now, there it was, plain as day. It looked to be a hanger structure, built into the side of a tall ridge. A remnant of the Lylat Civil War? If so, how had it survived here?

He backed toward it gradually, keeping his weapons trained on the beasts as they hissed and wailed and flashed their razor-like teeth. As he moved, he felt little tugs at his pant legs, and he realized it was the grass. Some of the little red blades were stuck to his arms from when he'd fallen, and on closer inspection, he realized that they had serrated edges that clung to clothing and fur. He had never seen it anywhere else on the planet, but gave this little further thought. He was not a botanist, and he had more pressing concerns. He felt his back press up against stone walls and realized he had backed all the way up to the facility.

About ten feet to his left was an open door, and he moved over to it. He leaned over and took a quick look inside. It was pretty dark in there, so he switched on his helmet's lights. He expected to see hanging vines and roots intruding through the structure, but there were none. The door led into a surprisingly well preserved passageway. He looked back to the lychons, which had settled down and now stood on their smaller rear legs, watching him intently from across the expanse of swaying red grass. In a sudden burst of anger, he fired his pistol at them, clipping one in the arm and causing the lot of them to scatter into the tress, but when he switched over to thermals he could see they were still watching, just far enough back to be concealed. He considered firing at them some more, but realized it would be a waste of ammo.

Even though they were still out there, he felt a wash of relief come over him as it seemed, for whatever reason, the lychons were unwilling to come any closer, and he was safe for the moment. He slouched down against the outer wall of the structure and tried to steady his ruined nerves, and as he did, he saw something peculiar. A single blade of the serrated grass stood out from the others. In a sea of swaying crimson, it alone was a dark shade of blue.

_Blue_. Almost the exact shade of blue that the blood on McCloud's ship had been, and, unlike the other blades of grass, it didn't so much as tremble in the passing breeze. It stood up rigidly, and perhaps it was nothing more than Panther's nerves, but amongst the thousands of waving red blades, this solitary, unmoving blue one was unsettling. He remembered what had happened before, and this time he leveled his blaster on it and fired, eliciting a number of wails from the tree line followed by an unnatural silence. It felt good to scare those little bastards, and a cruel smile spread to Panther's lips before he looked down and it momentary pleasure melted away completely. The little blue blade of grass had apparently splattered after being shot to oblivion, as if, rather than incinerating, it had instantly liquified and been sprayed onto to the surrounding plants. All of the effected blades of grass began to wither, and blacken, and curl down into the ground until they lay withered and dead, and a few seconds later, they were replaced by somewhat smaller blue replicas.

Panther shot to his feet and marched into the facility. He didn't know what he was seeing, and quite frankly he didn't _want_ to know. Although, if that blood on the ship had belonged to McCloud, did this mean he was here as well? After his flight through the jungle, Panther wasn't sure how to proceed. He still wanted to either capture or kill McCloud, if possible, but given the circumstances, he may stand a better chance of survival if they cooperate.

He pondered on this as he moved deeper into the facility, shut off his helmet's lights, and switched on thermals once again. As he staggered, exhausted, through the passageway, he reached out to steady himself on the wall and found it to be slick. Years in this humid region of Fortuna had apparently allowed for some sort of moss or algae to grow in this structure's cool, shaded interior. He wrinkled his nose in disgust before wiping his hand off on his pant leg and soldiering on. As he moved, he noticed residual heat in a large area of the wall and floor of a linking passage to his left, and by the look of it, he could guess that someone had been slumped down right here, much like he had done outside. The heat was gradually dispersing, and he didn't think it could be that old, ten, maybe fifteen minutes old, so he followed the passage until it wound up a flight of stairs, proceeded in the opposite direction for a very short way, and then dead ended at a closed door.

He shook off his fatigue, holstered his pistol, and primed is plasma caster. After what he had seen at McCloud's crash site, and again just outside, he wasn't sure what to expect, but he was prepared to _incinerate_ whatever he found with extreme prejudice.

Caster at the ready, he pushed the door open and stepped through, scanning left, then right as he emerged into a wide open space. It appeared to be a derelict hangar, but there were no- then he saw it, parked on the far side of the bay with the wheel chalks still in place. It was a fighter. Pre-war Venom Fleet markings, and it looked serviceable. He wanted to sprint straight to it, but he was still on edge from earlier, and he was rather certain he wasn't alone here.

"McCloud?" he called out, loudly, "I know you're here somewhere, and I suggest you come out peacefully."

"Yeah, under here," McCloud's voice called out from the direction of the fighter. A loud metallic bang soon followed as he seemingly dropped something, shouting, "See...damn it, its times like this I wish I had Slippy around."

He slid out from beneath the little ship on a rusty mechanic's creeper, wiped some grease from his face with his sleeve, and got to his feet. He was out of the effective range of both Panther's caster and his blaster pistol. He could still do damage from this range, but both weapons would be highly inaccurate. Even so, some part of Panther didn't want him any closer, at least...not yet.

"That ship," Panther asked in a loud, commanding tone, "will it fly?"

With the distance between them, even Panther had difficulty discerning the man's reaction to the question, but he did see a shrug, and he heard him say, "You know, I'm not sure. I dabble when I have time, but I'm not really a mechanic, so..."

He trailed off, scratching at the back of his neck.

The man was being too nonchalant, and it was making him angry. It was hell out there, and Panther had almost died at least twice just making it hear, so why did McCloud seem so unaffected? After a moment, he took his stabilizing hand off the handguard of his caster, reached up, and hit the zoom on his helmet, and once he did, his features pressed into a confused frown. He couldn't believe what he saw...the man was completely unharmed. There wasn't so much as a scratch on him! How was that even possible? What about the blood he had found?

He looked again, and on closer inspection, there were tares in McCloud's clothing. His pant leg had three large, uniform gashes along the side of them, like claw marks, revealing patches of orange fur...but even that was out of place. The rest of his fur appeared to be dyed black. The dye job was fading, Panther could see that, but the patches of orange on his legs looked like they had never been dyed to begin with, and they matched the gashes in his trousers perfectly. There was a similar orange tuft on his forehead and in little streaks across his face like little cuts.

Forehead...blunt force trauma at the crash...that blue blood...gash marks without wounds...something was not right.

"What _are_ you?" Panther demanded.

McCloud's lips curled into a mocking sneer, and he said, "You always this melodramatic?"

That got Panther's ire up even more. He did not go through all of this to be mocked by some freak of nature!

"Answer my question!" he demanded again.

"Which one, the one about the ship or the one where you sounded like an idiot?"

Panther fired a ball of plasma past the smug little bastard's head. From this range it could have gone anywhere, could have even killed the man, but he didn't care. He was fed up, and by God-!

McCloud whistled loudly, looking at the molten metal where the blast had hit on the wall to his right.

"You have nice toys," he stated, looking highly impressed.

Panther swallowed his anger with a snarl, and, as calmly as he could, he rumbled in a deep tone, "Fine, you imbecile, don't answer my questions. Move away from the vessel and I will inspect it myself."

As if the statement had roused him from some distraction, McCloud blinked and turned away from the melting spot on the wall and said, "Nah, I'm not gonna do that."

He picked up a wrench from a pile of other tools on the floor, inspected it briefly before stuffing it into his pocket, and then turned back toward the fighter.

"Tell you what I will do, though," Fox said without breaking his stride or his friendly demeanor, "If you walk back out into the jungle, no questions asked, I'll let you leave here in one piece."

That was enough! Panther was fed up. He advanced several quick steps, got to within thirty yards, aimed at McCloud's chest and...realized his target was now standing in front of his only means of escape...with a fanged grimace, Panther moved in even closer, McCloud watching with what looked like amusement. As he raised his plasma caster again, Fox's hand went up to his waist as if he were pretending to be in a western, but there was no weapon at his hip, and Panther stopped after closing to what he was positive was close enough to avoid a miss.

"Step. Away. From the ship." Panther ordered, keenly aware of what his weapon could do at this range.

They were only a few paces away from each other, and Panther towered over McCloud by almost a full foot. As Panther stared the man down, he still looked as if he were about to draw a weapon, but there was nothing on him. Panther found it odd that McCloud was here without even a blaster. Had he lost it in the crash?

"What are you doing?" Panther finally asked, frustrated.

As if that were some sort of cue, McCloud's smile widened and he said, "This."

He tapped something hidden under his shirt, and, with an electronic whir, he was enveloped in a wavering force field.

Panther cursed and pulled the trigger on his caster, unleashing a ball of high-density plasma which then erupted on contact with McCloud's shield.

Didn't even have time to blink, after that.

The dispersed plasma cloud that resulted from the blast hadn't even dissipated as McCloud charged out of it, the tips of his fur singed and glowing with little smoking embers. The shield had blocked most, but not all, of the blast. He was smiling like a lunatic as, faster than Panther could react, the man planted his feet firmly and drove his elbow into Panther's stomach.

As if hit by a truck, Panther was lifted off his feet and landed several feet away, his caster banging to the ground to his right and sliding away. He spun up to a seated firing position and drew his blaster, trying to suck in air after having it forced out of him as he took aim on-

Fox was on him too fast. He snatched the pistol clean out of Panther's hand and hurled it away. He grabbed Panther by the neck and hauled him to his feet, then pushed him so he staggered back a ways before catching his feet.

In a fury, Panther drew his knife, yelled, and charged at McCloud. He went in with a thrust, but McCloud pushed his hand aside and responded with two jabbs to the chest. They looked like feather blows, but felt like hammers. Panther pushed through the pain, cutting at Fox vertically, but the Vulpan evaded with mocking simplicity, as he did with the next swing, and the swing after that. Every so often Panther's efforts would be rewarded by little strikes that hit with disproportionate strength.

Panther felt like a rodent being toyed with, and after a few seconds of this, he was battered and disoriented. That was when Fox seemed to lose interest in his little game. His feigned humor was replaced by a look of cold, resentful disgust as he intercepted Panther's last, wild swing, stepping into it, catching the arm, and driving his palm upward against Panther's elbow.

The result was a sharp snap and blinding pain. As a scream tore through Panther's throat, McCloud closed to within a foot and rained a series of blows, serious, deliberate, world-shattering blows, into Panther's rib cage, eliciting a number of pops as some of his ribs snapped one after the other. At the end of it, Panther wasn't sure how much punishment he'd received. Five strikes? Maybe more, but as he looked up at McCloud, looked him in his eyes, he saw little lines of blue creeping in from all sides. The same color as the blood and the grass.

He saw a fist swing upward into his jaw, Panther saw a flash of stars, and then he felt like he was drifting into nothing.


	41. Chapter 41

**Star Wolf**

Wolf's boots crushed down into the swaying red grass beneath his fighter as he leapt to Fortuna's surface. The nearby jungle, hushed by the meteoric approach of their spacecraft, began to recover with the growing sounds of rustling, a myriad of distinct animal calls, and the occasional snap of undergrowth being trampled underfoot. He checked the display on his eye piece to make sure that this was the location of Panther's beacon, then looked up at the structure before him. One of Venom's old hangers, three tiers of closed launch bays stacked one on top of the other and recessed into the side of a tall ridge. Leon's cockpit hissed open behind him, and Wolf turned an eye to look, noticing the treeline as he did. It was a little discomforting, the way everything seemed to keep its distance from this place, especially here on this world. If it hadn't been for this clearing, then they probably wouldn't have risked the landing, and if it hadn't been for Panther's distress call, they wouldn't have known about it. No one would. Looking down from orbit, the area was camouflaged by some sort of interference that subtly blurred your display. Fuckin' electronics. Wolf had never been one to trust fancy toys over his own eyes. Leon had flown in low to get a direct visual on Panther's location, and reported back on this.

Wolf's ear twitched.

Might have just been his imagination, but the second he'd landed, his ears had started ringing. Same damn thing happened when he got scanned by port authorities and traffic cops. He looked around to try and see where it might be coming from, but there was nothing but all-consuming jungle, kept back in a perfect circle from an old hanger. One which, against all odds, remained untouched by anything other than the heat and humidity that was actively trying to choke him.

"What's up, boss?" Leon asked, watching him carefully with his hand resting on his blaster, "You got that look."

"Probably nothing," Wolf said, "Just got a bad feeling. Lets find a way in."

Leon nodded and immediately slung his carbine around from his back and to an alert position as he moved through the tall red grass. He moved over to the outer wall of the hanger, gliding forward like quicksilver. He looked like a predator on the hunt.

Wolf wasn't sure what made Panther turn on his beacon, but they were _not_ here for a rescue. Panther had directly disobeyed orders. They had lost their contact on Fichina, been identified by Cornerian forces while attacking a diplomatic vessel, and been forced to flee the scene while Caroso chased off their best damn chance at finding Bowman's precious Cipher. Now he expected help? Wolf had told that idiot what would happen if he fucked things up again.

Leon disappeared around a corner of the portion of the hanger that protruded from the base of the ridge, and a few seconds later, he came back, signaling for Wolf to follow.

Once he'd caught up, his reptilian friend pointed to an open doorway. The actual door was flung open and looked like it had rusted off its hinges a long time ago. The light from outside pierced a ways into the shadows, but the building didn't seem to have any power. The natural light pierced into the darkness as far as it was able, but further inside, the shadows won out.

Leon moved to take point, but Wolf stopped him, saying, "Hold up a minute, Powalski."

"What's up?" Leon asked, keeping his weapon at the ready.

Wolf kept his blaster holstered, but he gave his comrade a serious look.

"I gotta know your head's right before we go in there. You were the one that recommended Caroso..."

An easy smile spread across Leon's face, but his eyes were colder than Fichina in winter, "I follow, but you got nothing to worry about. It was all convenience. We were low on manpower, I owed him a favor, and he had some skill, so I put in a good word, but look...not to get all sentimental, but you and me, we go back a ways, and you've always had my back." The reptile's smile melted into a snarl that revealed a row of needle-like teeth, "We both know we can't afford to lose this contract on account of one idiot, and he should have known what that meant. Now lets do this job and get the hell out of here. I hate this fucking planet."

Satisfied, Wolf nodded, signaled for Leon to take the lead, and they both headed in. Over the years he'd learned that Leon, slimy as he was sometimes, had an odd sense of loyalty. For the most part, you couldn't trust a word that came out of his mouth. He was was a special kind of dangerous - manipulative, ruthless, and cunning, and the reptile took pleasure in deceiving people, like it was a game to him. For whatever reason, though, he had always been straight with Wolf. It probably had something to do with the lizards' culture. Loyalty to the tribe. Funny the way those things tended to echo through the generations. Thoughts of his own family sprang up and Wolf cringed inwardly.

He shook it off and kept moving. Why in the hell was he thinking of that crap now? It grew dark inside the building as they moved, and Wolf switched on his eyepiece's lowlight mode. Everything in his left eye became green and perfectly visible as Leon moved on ahead of him. The reptile crept through the shadows without any assistance. He ran his tail along the wall beside him as he went, and his eyes, shining in Wolf's nightvision, flicked around as he occasionally stopped and tilted his head to listen and watch. The way he did this shit, Wolf wondered if Powalski had augments, but when he'd asked a while back, Leon had denied it.

The Venomonian came to a halt and held up a closed fist signaling for Wolf to freeze. He crouched down and reached out to gently feel something on the ground. After a moment Leon looked back at him and traced a line along the ground with his hand, then gingerly stepped over it.

_Tripwire._

Someone was leaving surprises. Once Leon had pointed it out, Wolf could see it. A thin line that stretched across the passageway, just at the edge of an intersection. As he stepped over the line as well, he looked down the joining passage and saw what it was attached to. A grass grenade. You could tell by the thing's cylindrical shape. It was on the wall about a foot down the hall. No way to see it on approach. It looked like one of Panther's too.

Figured, this whole thing was a trap.

Wolf pulled his blaster free and snarled. Panther always was wily, especially when he had his back to a wall.

They walked on a few more paces when the sound of rumbling machinery and squealing metal echoed from above. By he sound of it, one of the hanger doors was opening on the floor above. Wolf frowned...but that would mean this place still had power after all these years. Given the state of the place, it was hard to believe that was even possible.

Leon listened for a moment, then turned down a hall, Wolf following close behind. There was a flight of stairs that they rounded carefully, leading with their weapons and clearing each flight as they went until they came to the second floor. Once there, a short hallway led to a set of double doors, and daylight streamed in from the open area beyond as one of them stood propped open. Wolf switched off his eyepiece's lowlight mode, and stared at the shape which held the door in place. Powalski looked back at Wolf questioningly before turning his attention forward again. With the light, there was no mistaking it.

Panther's body was leaned back against the door, holding it wide open against the wall. He wasn't moving, and he wasn't making a sound.

Leon approached Panther cautiously, placing each foot deliberately and keeping his weapon ready. After a few uneasy moments, he was close enough, and he reached out to check the man's pulse. As soon as he did, Panther groaned.

Wolf popped his neck and rolled his shoulders as his anger toward Caroso heated up again. He advanced four hard paces when Leon held up a hand to stop him.

It was the look on his face, more than the gesture, that gave Wolf pause. At first it was intense, then surprised, then impressed as he whistled and said, "Careful boss, he's rigged to blow."

"Its nice work, too," Leon continued, standing up and looking into the hanger beyond the open door, "but he didn't do it to himself. He's set to go off if you move him. Pretty clever, if you expect his friends to come help."

Wolf walked the rest of the way over, and stood over Panther's motionless body. The man looked up, his jaw tied shut with thin safety wire, to glare into Wolf's eyes. Defiance.

"Looks like he bit off more than he could chew," Wolf said, staring down at Caroso. He was beat to hell. Dried blood in his fur, broken jaw, and by his shallow breathing, probably some broken ribs. You wouldn't notice unless you were looking for it, but his grenade harness was turned around backwards, and his remaining gas grenades were strapped to his back, their pins removed and the levers held down by his body weight. If he moved an inch, then they would go off about six seconds later...Cyban gas was an ugly way to go.

Leon scratched at the scales on the back of his neck and looked over at Wolf.

"You don't think it was..."

"Who else would it be?" Wolf answered, walking past Panther and into the hanger beyond.

Stepping past the threshold of the door, he looked around and noticed two things right away. The first was an old fighter with some tools spread around underneath. The second was a large pile of weapons and ammunition about ten feet behind it.

"Leon," he called back over his shoulder, "go find a good firing position. If you bump into McCloud, talk him down, but do not engage. Clear?"

"Sure thing, Boss," Leon said.

The footfalls behind him told Wolf that Leon was taking the stairs. There was an overhanging observation room close to the roof of the hanger, a good spot assuming Fox wasn't holed up in there. He waited a few seconds, then Leon sent an all-clear signal over Wolf's headset.

He stood there a moment, thinking to himself, then looked back at Panther. As he did, a thought occurred to him, and it was a little crazy, but it made him smile.

"Hey!" Wolf yelled, loudly, "You in here McCloud?"

There was a pause, and he was about to shout again when he heard a voice call back from beyond an open door on the other side of the hanger.

"That Wolf?" Fox shouted back.

"Yeah," Wolf answered.

"Leon with you?"

"He's somewhere around here."

"Figures. Panther still breathing?"

Wolf sneered, "For the moment. Not too worried about him. Why don't you come on out here so we can talk like men."

"I don't know, O'Donnell," Fox answered, wryly, "your man Caroso didn't have anything nice to say."

"Panther Caroso is no longer a member of Star Wolf," he said, firmly, "That ended when he decided to he didn't want to follow orders. Which, incidentally, puts us in an interesting situation."

"Interesting how?" Fox's voice continued to echo from the open door.

Wolf blew out a heavy breath and stared up at the ceiling, entreating heaven for patience. McCloud wasn't really the one he was pissed at, though.

"Would you come out here, I'm tired or talking to a damn door."

Fox grumbled something Wolf couldn't make out, but after a second or two he came walking out into the hanger, wiping his greasy hands on his pant legs as he did.

"Okay, so, lets say I believe you," Fox said, "Panther flew off the handle, wasn't following orders. What makes you think I'm any happier to see you?"

Not a bad point. They hadn't exactly parted on good terms the last time they'd seen each other.

Fox glanced past Wolf, looked at Panther, and shook his head.

"Didn't go for it, huh?"

Wolf shrugged, and said, "You get an A for effort, but no. Didn't feel like doing the Cyban shake, so Panther can just sit tight."

"So then," Fox said, staying back a good twenty feet, "you've got Leon up in the rafters with a bead on my skull, you don't seem to care much about my trump card, and nobody's fired a shot yet."

Wolf nodded and folded his arms over his chest, keeping his firing hand an assuring distance from his blaster.

"Thought maybe we could try talking. I've been looking for you for a while now," Wolf started, "since your little stunt over Titania."

Fox's eyes went down and right for a moment before he looked back Wolf's way, saying, "Yeah, I guess I'm worth some money now."

"To the right people," Wolf agreed, "Lucky for you I don't work for any of them."

"That a fact..." Fox said, unconvinced, "Its not like you to turn down an easy payday."

"Normally, no," Wolf said, "but any contract involving you is never easy. Besides, I'm not after you, specifically. I'm under contract to find something called a Cipher. The man that hired me seems to think you know a thing or two about it."

Fox gave a nonchalant smile and asked, "Why would he think that?"

"Not sure," Wolf admitted, "but it might have something to do with you stealing it."

Fox laughed, and Wolf allowed himself a smirk.

"I might know a few things," Fox said, still smiling, "but, uh...assuming you caught me, how were you planning to get me to tell you anything?"

"Figured I'd ask real nice like," Wolf said, "Failing that I'd try and beat it out of you, and when that didn't work, I'd haul you back to my employer and they could take a crack at it."

"Good plan," Fox said, frowning and cradling his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Thing is, sometimes plans change," Wolf stated, then took a deep breath and said, "Let me be blunt-"

"Are you ever anything else?"

"Star Wolf is hiring."

For a minute, the kid just stared at him with his mouth open like he'd been caught mid-quip. Left Fox McCloud speechless...that's gotta count for something.

"Hey, Boss, did you just say what I think you said?" Leon asked over his headpiece.

"I'm a man short," Wolf said, tilting his head over to Panther, who looked about as surprised as Fox, "And the way I see it, the things we're after aren't all that different."

Fox shook it off, saying, "You're offering me a job? This is happening?"

"That isn't a no," Wolf said.

Fox's fists were balled up tighter than a bureaucrats asshole while he seemed to mull it all over, probably trying to decide if Wolf was serious – if he should hear him out, or shoot him just for offering - something like that. Who could blame the kid? Wolf had just thought of it in the spur of the moment, but the more thought he gave it, the more sense it seemed to make. Still...

"Look, kid, I know the feeling," he said to Fox, "I gave your old man the same look when he offered to hire me, back in the day."

That caught McCloud's attention, but he still didn't say anything.

Wolf nodded and went on, saying, "I turned him down, of course. I was young, and...well, stupid. Just got thrown out of the academy. They said I had a bad attitude, something about authority issues. Probably weren't wrong. I was good though. Broke a few of your old man's records. Guess he noticed, because he showed up at my father's door looking for me not long after that."

Wolf looked out the open hanger doors and into the jungle beyond it, his brow creased from bad memories.

"My old man was a worthless fucking drunk. But he was at least sober enough to tell your father where to find me. I think I'd been out of the academy for about a month...was already taking jobs for this fat drug runner by the name of Bolsa. Bolsa the Barber. Your old man pulled me aside and told me he saw potential and some other shit. Sounded pretty good at the time, but..." Wolf rubbed at his neck, "See, I never did take orders well. I told myself I worked for me, nobody else, right? Figured Bolsa was just a place to start. Stupid fucking kid. Bolsa didn't see it that way. Anyway, like I said, the long and the short of it is, I turned your father down."

Wolf turned back to Fox, Jame's boy, spitting image of his father, "I don't regret much of what I've done up till now, McCloud, but I do wonder sometimes. What if I had taken him up on his offer? Where the hell would I be now...where would he be?"

A heavy silence settled between the two men as they stood across from one another. Part of him was asking himself why he was saying all this, the other was focused on the young man in front of him. Fox still hadn't given an answer, and Wolf had already done more than his usual share talking.

"Look, it isn't complicated, Fox," he said, plainly, "You've got skills my team needs, and unlike me, you don't have a problem not being in command. The pay is good, and I don't care what you do so long as you're around when I need you, and you don't do anything to cross me. Those are the ground rules. More importantly, my employer can provide asylum from Corneria while you keep up this goose chase you seem to be on."

Fox flashed something between a smile and a snarl as he stared a hole in the floor.

"I'd have to trust you," he said, giving Wolf a look that said nothing pretty about his character.

"For now," Wolf answered, "Being in my way and being in my team ain't the same. Star Wolf takes care of their own."

Fox raised an eyebrow and shot a look Panther's way, then shrugged.

Wolf smiled confidently and extended his hand.

Fox's hand came up to meet it.

Thunder struck from a crystal clear sky, the roar of an engine and the whine of a starship's levicoils washing in from the open hanger as a gunship lowered itself into view.

Wolf barred his fangs viciously as his anger rose up again.

What the hell was this now?!

"Sorry I'm late, Fox," a high spirited, female voice called out over the ship's external comm., "I missed you at the rendezvous and I got worried, so I decided to trace the location of your tracking device, which I am happy to see you still haven't discovered."

Wolf turned to see McCloud's hand wilt and fall back to his side. Fox looked him in the eyes, shrugged ruefully, and answered the woman, saying, "You have impeccable timing."

"Comes from a good upbringing," She answered, "Now, climb aboard and we'll be on our way. And, Mr. O'Donnell?"

Wolf looked over at the hovering ship and licked at his teeth.

"Yeah?" he answered, lovelessly.

"Be a good man and stay right where you are. I would hate to have to do anything as rash as to destroy your fighters and strand you here."

Wolf summed up his situation and sighed. No sense posturing or making threats. He looked over to Fox, who was walking over to his weapons cache and said, "Hey, McCloud, hold up a sec."

Wolf ignored the woman's warning, walked over to Panther, who still wasn't moving a muscle, and plucked his wave phone out of his front breast pocket. Then he walked back to where he was before, and tossed it over to Fox.

"Its an open offer, got it?" Wolf said, "I'll be in touch."

Then he stepped back over Panther's body and pinged Leon over his headset.

"Get a move on Powalski, we're pulling out," he said, tersely.

Leon chuckled in his ear, and said, "I hear you, Boss. You're one crazy bastard, you know that?"

Behind him, Panther moaned, and Wolf turned a cold eye his way. He pulled out his blaster and aimed it at the Katinaman's head, but after a moment he lowered it.

"Too bad, Panther," he said, holstering his sidearm again, "little girl spoiled my good mood. Otherwise I'd have done you the favor."

That was all. He walked away, back toward the stairs that would take him to his Wolfen. If he pulled some strings he could probably still meet with Viccini and get some information.

And who knows? Maybe Fox would come around...


	42. Chapter 42

**Warp and Corruption**

The ship's engines came to life, and she began to climb as Fox finished carrying in the last load of munitions. He felt a little better now that he had his guns. He hadn't noticed it all that much, but now that he had them back, he realized that he had been feeling exposed without them. He picked a blaster, held it in his hand, felt the weight of it, then strapped it onto his waist in a holster. He let out what was intended to be a relieved sigh, but it came out heavy as Wolf's offer ran through his head again.

He had worked with Wolf before, and that hadn't exactly panned out for him. He'd spent the last three years holding a grudge, as a matter of fact. Now he was standing here, actually considering joining up with Star Wolf. He imagined himself in the cockpit of a wolfen and frowned. Maybe they would have let him get away with repainting an arwing...

In any case, Wolf had mentioned his employer, said he was someone who could offer asylum from Corneria. Who could that even be? Asylum implied a power outside the Cornerian Federation, and as far as Fox knew, there was no such thing these days. Ah well, whatever, they had let Wolf and Leon go on their way without incident, and Fox now had Panther's old wave phone in his pants pocket so O'Donnell could contact him. Maybe after this whole mess was settled, he would take him up on it, at least for a little while. If he didn't like the way Wolf did business, then he could always pull a Wolf on them... leave them high and dry when it really counts.

These were the thoughts going through his head as he began sorting through the weapons from his cache, organizing them by model and function. He was at it for a few minutes when he found something that gave him pause. It was an odd looking, custom-made rifle. Except that it wasn't a rifle, really, it just looked like one.

He smiled as he picked the thing up and held it in his hands. Really it looked more like a heavy plasma caster, or an old grenade launcher. A forty millimeter barrel connected to a stock and trigger assembly that would have looked like an oversized shotgun if not for the tech, and ringed by a belt of cylinders of equal diameter.

This was one of Slippy's old pet projects. The man had always been obsessed with g-diffuser technology – raving about how there was never any information about them, nobody knew how to fix them, had to be replaced as an entire module, etc. This gun was his attempt to simulate a result similar to the g-diffusers ability to negate momentum. Must have gotten thrown in with the rest of this cache by mistake.

He set it down by itself, away from the actual weaponry, and was immediately reminded of what Slippy had said before he'd fled Corneria...guess they were all pretty pissed at him right about now. He rubbed at the back of his neck and started walking to the cockpit. Wasn't like he had a choice. What was he supposed to do with Star Wolf showing up out of the blue? Still, it might take more than a couple of beers to smooth this one over. For now, though, it was best to keep Slippy and Falco out of this mess. They were better off not getting any more involved.

_You're trying to protect yourself!_

Now, apparently, it was Krystal's turn to intrude on his private thoughts.

He shook his head as he cleared the door leading into the little gunship's cockpit, and Fay turned a helmeted head his way, cocking it to the side as she asked, "Are you alright, Fox? You look tired."

"I'm beat," he admitted, tossing himself down into a chair next to hers, "Its been kind of a long twenty-four hours."

"Mmm," was her only reply. It was hard to tell with that suit on, but Fox could imagine what was on her mind. Honestly, he hadn't expected her to show up so soon. He thought she would have needed some time to grieve.

"How about you, Fay, how are you holding up?" he asked, trying not to let his sympathy sound like what it was.

"I..." she trailed off, her voice altered very slightly by her helmet. She probably still wore it in order to hide her face. She took a deep breath and managed to continue, "I miss him already."

Fox's eyes went down to his lap, and he nodded somberly. That was more than he would have been able to admit, probably

She sniffed and turned her head away, then said, "How did you...I mean, when your parents passed on..."

"How did I get past it?" Fox finished for her, since he could tell her voice was trying to seize up on her. She nodded and sniffed again, and Fox looked up to stare at the stars that had appeared as they left Fortuna's atmosphere.

He thought about it, bitterly, until the silence grew heavy and demanded an answer to fill it. He figured the truthful answer wouldn't help her much, and decided to bend it a little, just enough to giver her something.

"Time," he said, "It hurt for a while, and it's probably always gonna hurt when I think about it, but over time it hurts less, and I don't think about it as often."

She was quiet for a second or two, and looked at him intently from behind her visor, then she let out a breath that may have been a sigh, turned her head away, and said, "Liar."

Fox smiled a joyless little smile, and countered with, "Its not a lie. It just isn't the whole truth. Might even be true, in your case."

"So what makes you special?" she asked, flatly.

"Me?" he asked, settling into his seat as his fatigue began to catch up with him, "I'm an idiot. Certifiable."

Fay managed a weak little laugh, and asked, "Certifiable?"

"Mm-hm," he answered, his eyes beginning to grow heavy, and he mumbled, "I have papers."

She laughed a little more heartily this time, then sniffed again, forgetting about her helmet and bringing her hand up to wipe at her nose. It made a soft clunk when her glove struck the visor.

Fox closed his eyes and said, "You don't have to wear that suit, Fay. There's no one else around."

He heard her try to speak, but her voice finally broke. Poor thing. He didn't have any comfort to giver her, but she was a tough kid. Just needed some time to pull through.

As he drifted off into a much needed nap, he thought, _she'll have a few hours before Zoness, __at least._

_. . ._

Fox's eyes snapped open, and he sat upright in his chair. His ears stood up straight and his eyes darted around. Stars moved slowly past the forward viewport as long white streaks while the ship moved through warped space. The cockpit was quiet. The instruments all looked normal. Nothing seemed out of place...so what was wrong? Something had woken him up and had his stomach tying knots.

He began to calm himself as he looked around. He checked the time, and realized he'd been out for about an hour and a half, then frowned. He tried to shake it off, but the feeling wouldn't go away. A cold feeling in his gut that made the fur on his neck stand up.

He rubbed at his temple, and turned to look at the seat next to him. It was empty.

"Fay?" Fox called out, standing up and stretching. There was no answer, and he didn't really want to disturb her if she didn't want to answer.

"Sig, where is Fay," he asked the ship's A.I.

No answer.

Fox reflexively loosened his pistol in its holster, and said, "Orian, did I miss something while I was out?"

"Nothing I'm aware of," Orian answered, "but this feeling...its almost like-"

He stopped short as a tingling sensation spread up from the base of Fox's skull.

He had felt this before.

"Where is it coming from?" he growled, pulling his blaster free. He blinked, and Orian illuminated it for him, the marker signal.

It traced a path from the seat beside his, then back out of the cockpit.

"Fay!" Fox called out, following the trail, "Sig, what the hell's going on? Do we have an intruder?"

Again there was no response, and he was about to call out to Fay again when he walked into the storeroom where his weapons were stacked, and stopped in his tracks.

Fay stood, her suit giving off the steady glow of the marker signal. She stood facing the wall, not moving, not turning. The skin of her suit writhed and crawled across her body, gradually enveloping the armor plates and beginning to cover her visor.

"Fay-!" he started, but Sig's voice cut him off.

"Indeed, Mr. McCloud, we do have an intruder," the A.I. said, evenly. As it spoke, its voice was accompanied by thousands of other tiny whispers that clawed at Fox's mind as he listened. The artifical skin continued to crawl as it said, "but not to worry. Once she is eliminated, I will ensure your safety. After all, a compatible host is required."

Fox gritted his teeth and said, "You're that thing I fought...back in the warehouse, aren't you?"

"Yes," it answered, "And no. We are one, and we are many. This intelligence program has added to our consciousness. In the end, it is all for us. Everything in this universe is ours. Come. Join us."

"What about the girl?" Fox asked, trying to buy time as he frantically searched for a way out of this, "How did this happen?"

"She connected to us with this suit," the thing answered, "When she attempted to access our prison. The warehouse, as you called it. Curious. Like the body before this one, it is Anima, and yet it is not Anima. The little ones are dull, and subdued. They join us easily, but they must be coaxed...it takes time to awaken them."

The suit turned to look at him, moving in jerks and fits, like before, like a sick marionette.

"We cannot hear the voice of our queen. We must seek answers. We must spread. We must have a host."

"Fay, if you can hear me, just hold tight," Fox said, "I'm going to get you out of there."

"You cannot," the suit answered.

"You don't need her! Let her go!"

"She is incompatible. She has no use. Unneeded biological material must be disposed of."

_Orian,_ he thought inwardly, _You stopped this thing before, right? Can you do it again?_

"I don't know, Fox," Orian answered, doubtfully, "Back then...I don't really know what happened."

_But you beat it, _Fox thought, _You kept it from taking me over._

"Its a gamble, at best," Orian stated.

"Right," Fox said, aloud.

He holstered his blaster, popped his neck, and marched up to Fay's twisted suit. He hesitated for a moment as it looked at him, curiously, and as it did, he heard Fay's muffled voice.

"...help."

Fox's hand shot out and grabbed the suit by the neck. Before it could react, he caught its wrist with his other hand, swept its leg out, and slammed it to the ground, holding it down as the suit's skin began to crawl off of Fay and onto him.

"Connection good. Compatible host found," the voices crawled through his skull, "Assimilating."

It flowed onto his skin and burned as it went, and as it left Fay, her white fur began to appear.

_Any time now, Orian..._

"I'm trying!" he said, his voice multiplying as he spoke, and soon he was lost in a chorus of shrieking voices, some of them his, most of them those of the creature.

The last of the corrupted suit left Fay's body and latched onto Fox's as it spread over every inch of him, working up the base of his neck, covering his mouth and ears until it crawled over the back of his head, and, finally, into his eyes.

His mind was assaulted by the shrieking voices as they tore him apart from the inside. He tried to remember what had happened before, what had stopped it, but he couldn't...he couldn't think. It was too much. He was losing himself in it all.

"Oh God, Fox!" a voice cried out.

He could feel himself thrashing against the invasion of this substance as it began to peel back his skin and slide underneath. He cried out in pain, but could make no sound outside his mind. He fell to his knees, scrapping his fingers across his face as he frantically tried to tear off the creeping substance.

"CONNECTION AQUIRED," another voice said, booming out over the thousands of others, "EXPOSURE...CRITICAL...PROCESSING POWER MINIMAL. ATTEMPTING RECLAMATION."

A fraction of a second after that statement, and it was like a war had suddenly erupted behind Fox's eyes. Shrieks and burning, voices crying out, fire crawling through his mind and across his body.

It was too much. Fox fell into darkness as the fires continued to rage.

He couldn't say how long this went on. It could have been minutes, or days, but eventually, mercifully, it stopped.

. . .

Fox's eyes opened, gradually, grudgingly. He rubbed at them, then looked at his hand. There was nothing wrong with it. He felt alright. He looked up and found himself staring out the front viewport of Fay's ship, seated in the same chair he had been in before. He blinked back his surprise, then let out a relieved breath. These dreams were getting worse...

He tried to stand, but lost his balance and sank back into his chair, cradling his head in his hands as it throbbed in protest to his attempt to move. These nightmares he'd been having, he wondered if they meant something. Something in his subconscious trying to be heard, maybe?

"Fay..." he croaked, but found his voice to be course, his throat raw.

As he sat, he looked himself over. Same dark green cargo pants he had been wearing in the jungle. Same torn shirt-

His brow furrowed as he looked again. The shirt wasn't torn. He could have sworn...no, he was positive it had been torn – back in the jungle, when that big bug had slashed him. It was the same with his pant leg, now that he thought about it.

He lurched forward, and forced himself to his feet, taking a moment afterword to let his head stop pounding. His mouth was dry, and his tongue stuck to the roof as he licked at his lips.

Maybe Fay had changed the shirt. But then, what about the pants? Had he changed before going to sleep? He was tired, so he probably just forgot. Must have been sleeping pretty heavily up 'till now...how long had he been out?

He checked the time on the ship's instruments. Just short of three hours. His dream came back to him, hauntingly, and he decided to look at something else. Once he was sure he could walk, he made his way back to the bunks in the ship's small sleeping quarters in search of Fay. After waking up from that, he wanted to check on her...just to be sure.

"Fay?" he said, softly announcing his arrival as he entered the bunk room, "You in here?"

She didn't answer, but he saw two white legs at the edge of one of the bunks, pulled up as if she were holding them against her chest. At least she'd taken the suit off. Just the thought of the damn thing gave him chills.

_Just a dream_, he reassured himself.

"I was out like a light, huh?" he said, "You feeling alright? We should be at Zoness pretty soon."

Her arm reached out and wrapped around her legs, and she pulled them in even tighter. He couldn't see the rest of her, but he didn't want to intrude, so he stayed put instead and just said, "You alright, kid?"

"...Fox?" she squeaked, meekly, "is that you?"

Fox grinned and shook his head, "Who else would it be?"

She didn't answer.

"Everything alright?" he asked, coming around to get a look at her.

He walked around, and bent down to look into the bottom bunk she was huddled in...and found himself staring down the barrel of a blaster. Her eyes were wide and frightened, and Fox's stomach began to sink.

It was a dream. It was just a dream, damn it!

"Fay," he said, holding up his hands reassuringly, "put the gun down. Tell me what's wrong."

Her hands shook, and her finger was on the trigger as she said, "It took you...y-you let it take you. It had me, and...now it has you! How do I know it's gone? How do I know you're Fox?"

"Its me kid," Fox said, his mind racing as he attempted to remain calm, if for nothing else, than to keep Fay from panicking. Despite that, his voice was unsteady, "It's me...now put the gun down, and tell me what happened."

She looked confused, and tears welled in her eyes, but the gun remained aimed at his chest.

"While you were asleep, I..." her voice broke, but she continued, "I went to lay down, but when I woke up, I couldn't move. My suit...Sig, he..." her tears were flowing freely now, "I couldn't control myself. It was going to kill me. But then you...Fox saved me. He made it take him somehow."

She lowered the blaster as her head sank to her knees.

"I was scared. And I didn't know what to do. I hid back here...I'm such a child."

Fox just stood there for a minute, then said, "Thought I'd dreamed all that. But...if it actually happened, then where did the suit go?" he asked, "Orian? You still with me, buddy?"

Orian groaned, then, sounding more like Fox than himself, he said, "Did I win? What's the other guy look like?"

"Who is that?" Fay asked, looking around for the source of the voice.

Fox frowned. He realized that Orian's voice hadn't just been in his head that time.

"Orian?" Fox asked, "Are you-"

"Oh my," Orian said, sounding like himself again, "Yes it appears that I am. Let me run a diagnostic...I think there may have been a few changes while I was out."

"That's Orian?" Fay asked, regaining just a bit of her cool, "He's real?"

Before Fox could answer Orian chimed in again, this time in a low tone.

"Fox," he said, "You may want to sit down."

Fox's dream was coming back all-too-vividly now. Every second, every shriek, every spike of pain.

"We weren't as effective at repelling the infection this time," Orian continued, his voice emanating from both inside of Fox's mind and from over the ship's internal comms.

Fox held his hands out in front of him again, this time looking closely at the fur on his arms. It was orange, his natural color, but, now that he thought about it, when he'd gone to sleep...they had still been dyed black. Then there was his shirt. He hadn't brought a spare set of clothes to be changed into.

He let his arms drop down to his sides, staggered a step, then ran out of the room, back to the comm. room where the events of the dream had taken place. What he found there made his stomach turn. The metal bulkheads were rent in claw-like gashes. Other places were dented as if struck with great force...and on the floor was shredded fabric. The remains of his shirt, and rags that were once a pair of dark green cargo pants.

He looked at himself again. Same clothes. Orange fur. Wasn't a dream.

His breathing began to become short and rapid as his mind swam with his realization, and as he looked down at himself, a chill ran up his spine and through every nerve in his body, and in response, his skin, his fur, his clothes all squirmed as if alive while little lines of light briefly traced a pattern of tiny hexagons, then disappeared again.

His eyes narrowed down as his gut threatened to revisit his last meal, and his teeth ground down on each other so hard it made it hard to speak.

After a moment, he found his voice again. It was rough and acid still burned up from his stomach as he managed to say, "Orian...get it off of me...get it off."

Orian was quiet a moment, and Fox realized he could feel the program's discomfort.

"I can't," Orian said, somberly, "There is no longer a clear distinction between what was the suit, and what was your original body. It would be like removing your skin."

Fox drove his fist into the wall, and the metal gave slightly. His lips curled back to show his fangs, but then, maddeningly, they curled up into a bitter smile.

Short, sharp laughter boiled up and out of him, and he fell back against the bulkhead, staring at the ceiling as his smile became grimace.

"Fuck..." he said, his hands snaking at his sides until he shoved them into his pockets. He tried not to think about what those pockets actually were, and muttered, "I guess you warned me, huh?"

"Fox-" Orian tried to say, an attempt at comfort in his tone.

"How much of me is anima?" Fox asked.

Orian hesitated, than answered, "Initial diagnostics are still being conducted, but for now I can confirm levels in excess of fifty-seven percent. At this time, you are well past the point of mutation. No hazardous mutations have been identified thus far, and all anima cells are maintaining safe 99.974% genetic integrity or better. The new strains seem to be more efficient than those of my generation's..."

Fox took in what Orian was saying silently, his face becoming flat and expressionless, and said "Fifty seven percent. Thanks."

"You should also know that the corruption has been purged from your system, for now at least. The existing anima is under your direct control," Orian said, reassuringly, "However, from the data I have gathered from our confrontation with the corrupt anima, in our current condition, if we were to come into direct contact with the source of this signal...then in all likelihood we would be irrevocably corrupted. We barely came out of that on top, thus your predicament."

Fox nodded.

"That voice before," he said, evenly, "the one that reacted to that corruption you're talking about. It was the same voice I heard back in the warehouse. That wasn't you, was it?"

"No." Orian answered, "That was Loopy. I believe I told you about him, didn't I? Yes. Yes I did. Well, I believe I can now conclude that his directive has something to do with this...virus. I now believe him to be a program designed to counteract the infection that seems to have taken over the network. Unfortunately, he seems to be either damaged, or incomplete. He has, thus far, only achieved full functionality when in contact with the corrupted signal, and I currently lack enough data to completely understand or repair him. For now, all I can say with any sort of certainty is that he has saved us twice."

"So, Loopy saved the day," Fox said, pulling his right hand free, then opening and closing it, feeling his skin literally crawl, "wish he would've acted a bit sooner."

"Yes..." Orian agreed, "If I only knew how to trigger him, then I could have prevented this! By the time he began to counteract the infection, the corrupt anima was already fused to you. All he could do was purge the virus and bring the new anima under control. Two millennia and I can't even figure out one program. I am sorry, Fox. It seems I'm not living up to my promise, am I?"

Fox shook his head, his earlier panic fading, leaving behind a sunken feeling in his gut.

"Not your fault," he said, "I made my bed, now I have to lie in it. Anyway, seems like you found a way into the ship's systems. Is that permanent?"

"Err...yes," Orian stated, tentatively, "It seems that the virus had absorbed Fay's artificial intelligence program. When I, in turn, absorbed the defeated virus I suppose I...well...inadvertently _ate_ Siegfried. Considering what you have given up in exchange, its hardly what I would call a fair trade, but I do appear to be backwards compatible with Lylation technology."

Fox shrugged, pushed off the wall, and said, "Its better than nothing."

"So," Orian said, "what is the plan, captain?"

He didn't answer. He was doing his best to regain his calm, but this was a hell of a lot to absorb.

"Well," Fay said, making Fox realize she was standing in the open door, her head down and her hands folded in front of her, "If it's quite alright with you, Fox, I think we should keep going."

When he didn't answer, she continued.

"We can't exactly go back," she said, then, with confidence that was probably forced, "but we're still alive, right? That's twice now, that you've saved me...Uh but, no, as I said, we should press on!"

Fox scratched at his nose, feeling suddenly ashamed of himself. Here he was reeling, and a little girl was the one acting cool. It was just unmanly.

He sighed, and looked himself over again. No going back, might as well go forward, huh?

He thought of the thing he'd fought in the warehouse, how it had beaten him senseless. Then he thought about how _he_ must have seemed to Panther during their fight, and grimaced.

_Becoming quite the monster, aren't we?_ He thought, inwardly.

Orian didn't answer. A chime from the cockpit let Fox know they were about to drop out of warp, and his A.I. said, "We have arrived at Zoness."


	43. Chapter 43

Katt Monroe

A gentle breeze rolled past, making thousands of tiny leaves dance on their branches with a soothing, rustling sound as they all brushed against one another. If she closed her eyes, Katt could almost picture herself on Katina. The sound of the grass in the rainy season back home sounded much like the wind in Corneria's trees – if you closed your eyes, anyway. But unlike the rain, the little breeze only lasted a few precious seconds, and then it was gone, replaced by the sullen silence being held in the estate behind her.

Katt was leaning out onto the balcony of the second floor, just outside the room Peppy had provided in his big, fancy house. It was, hands down, the fanciest place she'd ever laid her head down. It made her kind of sad, the whole experience being spoiled like this.

She opened her eyes again, and took in the sight of the variety of green foliage that decorated the estate's big yard, everything trim and neat, perfectly pruned and tended to. She breathed in the fragrant air, and let it all out in a pained sigh. She would have to go back in eventually, but she didn't want to. Not yet. It was quiet now, and it would stay that way, as long as she didn't go back inside. She was afraid that the second she left the balcony, the shouting and cursing would start up all over again.

That's how it had been for the last day or so. Ever since Fox had slipped through their fingers again. Or was that right? What were they doing, exactly, trying to catch him? Help him? She didn't know anymore. One thing was made pretty clear, though, the chance at the happy reunion Falco had been hoping for had gone down in flames.

Katt lifted her head a little and stared wistfully up at the clouds.

Plenty of blame had been passed around on account of what had happened. Falco had blamed Krystal for not calling sooner. Peppy blamed Fox for starting this whole mess, which made Falco in turn blame Peppy for putting his 'desk job' ahead of his friends. Krystal then blamed everyone for not responding faster. Falco blamed Krystal again for driving Fox off, blamed the CFF for interfering, cursed Star Wolf with the passion of a preacher on the pulpit, blamed the government, society, Fox for being 'too paranoid to wipe his ass without checking the hole for bugs' – hard to forget that one – and, finally, himself for not ignoring Peppy's order to stand down. Not that they'd had much choice. When the man in command of an entire fleet of warships, all within firing range, tells you to stand down, it's not really a suggestion.

That was only the beginning, though. The arguing had gone on and on, non-stop, for hours. There had been lulls here and there, but for the most part it had been like everyone had hit their breaking points at once. In the end, Falco's temper had stoked everyone else's individual fires until it all exploded in one final shouting match. Falco and Krystal went at it, and he let her have what was on his mind. Every bit of it. He'd called her every name in the book, and a few that he must have made up on the fly. In the end, he went too far, and Katt had tried to stop him several times, but he wouldn't listen. He only shut his mouth after Katt had finally lost it. She couldn't even remember exactly what she'd said, but it hadn't been pretty. Somewhere in it all, Krystal had already left, and Katt doubted she would be coming back this time. Once she'd said her piece, Katt had stormed out here, leaving Falco alone in the room with Slippy – Slippy who had been the only one to remain silent during the whole ugly mess. In fact, she didn't think he had spoken a single word since his earlier outburst with Fox.

She sighed. She loved Falco. Loved him so much that it hurt sometimes, watching him go off like a bomb. He was passionate about everything he did. Honestly, it was what made him so alive, so fun to be around. It was what drew her to him, she thought, but it was also what made life so hard for him. He had no control over that temper of his. Since they'd been flying together...no, it was longer than that. They'd first met in that stupid gang when they were barely more than kids. The _Hot Rodders. _She was enthralled by him back then. He was so free and wild, and she had been kind of an introvert. Broody. Bad Katt, they'd called her. God, it was embarrassing to think how she had acted all aloof back then, as if it made her cool, but the truth of it was that she had just been afraid of letting people know what she was feeling.

Katinese society was very rigid, and she had grown up in the thick of it. Self control was like a natural gift for her, a reflex, even without all the years of being taught to suppress everything by her elders and 'betters.' That's where she had differed from the other children in school, though. They were all taught to be quiet, and calm, and to only express oneself in the proper way, at the proper time. They called it control, and in theory, that's what it was, control over emotion, but, in practice, it was nothing but blind, senseless repression. To her, emotions were more like little tools she used. She tried to let them run their course without letting them control her, but she also refused to push them down completely like the others. They were guides and enablers. Fear, for example, keeps you on edge, gives you the strength to fight or flee. Anger can free you from the confines of polite injustices. Even sorrow can help you abandon hopeless burdens if you treat it like a guide rather than some dramatic illness of the heart. To her, real, honest to God mastery of emotion meant not to fight them, but to learn how to use them. They all rejected their emotions, kept them bottled up until they snapped under the pressure of it all and did something _unseemly_. Then the whole thing was quickly and forcefully swept under the rug so that everyone else could go back to their proper little lives. Growing up, it had made her sick, and, in her own way, she had rebelled against it. She ran away when she was sixteen to join a gang of glorified car thieves just to rail against _polite _society...and probably her parents, whom she hadn't spoken to since. Some things die hard, though, and she still felt like she had done something wrong whenever she lost control, like earlier.

Falco, on the other hand, was her exact opposite. He was Avian – romantic nomads, or listless bums, depending on who was telling the story – and he was everything Katt had imagined an Avian to be. He was loud, and expressive, and completely free. Being around him had been like standing in the warm light of a bonfire, when all you had known before it was the dull gray light of an endless, cloudy winter sky. But she had known, even way back then, that that fire of his couldn't burn on forever. If he kept going the way he did, railing against the world, uncontrolled, then one day he was going to burn himself out. Without someone to lend him a little stability, he would never have made it out of that miserable hole, running around with a gang in Nin-Yang City. Katt had done her best to help him back then, but she had been too cautious and too full of herself to do him any real good. She had wanted to be his control, and in her teenage daydreams she had imagined that they could find a sort of glossy harmony. All their problems would be solved with the power of their _love. _She could guide his fiery passions, and in return he would help her feel the warmth of it all...the way he did. It made her cringe, now, to think how she had held onto these fantasies while doing nothing about it for fear of ruining her precious _reputation._

Of course, she knew that she shouldn't be so hard on herself. She knew she was far from perfect. It had taken her several years to piece together what she knew now, and even so, sometimes her emotions still overwhelmed her. She was, after all, still a very small, and very mortal person. She had been too naive back on Katina, and before she had really figured it all out, Falco had found someone else to help him, or, rather, someone else had found him. Instead of a frilly romance with Katt and Falco sailing off to a better life, Falco ended up with a lifelong friend in Fox McCloud. He flew away and joined Star Fox, and Katt was left to puzzle her shattered, unrequited dreams back together again.

Stupid little girl.

In the end, she was better for it, though. Most of what she now considered to be genuine insight into her own character was a result of losing those childish dreams, being forced to figure out what had gone wrong, and how she could avoid the same mistakes in the future. She had come out of it a bit wiser...probably.

She smiled to herself.

Besides, after all those years, her Avian had come back.

Behind her, the door creaked on its old, metal hinges, and before she could look, Falco's voice announced who it was.

"Hey," he said, the anger in his voice having calmed to a low smolder, "I, uh..."

She didn't turn to look his way. Despite herself, she felt the anger of her outburst begin to boil up again, and being reminded of it made her feel embarrassed. It wasn't often she had an outburst. It took a lot for her to make a scene, and she always ended up hating herself for it when it was over.

She took a breath and let it all run it course. It would pass soon enough, and until then she would just keep quiet. Let Falco talk if he wanted to talk.

The dark blue Avian slammed his weight backwards against the rails of the balcony, crashing his way into Katt's field of vision with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes aimed willfully into the sky, and one leg crossed over the other.

"Look," he said, "I know I got a short temper, alright? I wish I didn't sometimes. It's like, most people have this..._filter_ between their head and their mouth, and I was born without it, ya know? I get an idea and I spit it out. I can't change that, and..." he frowned, and his voice softened, just enough to Katt to pick up on it, "I don't think I'd want to even if I could. I don't know. I know it causes problems, but I just think a man should speak his mind. I don't think I should have to lie to someone's face to spare their feelings. If two people can't stand each other, well, then its probably better if they know it, and then they can either settle it like men, or go their separate ways, follow? That's where I stand on it, but for the record, I _do _listen, Katt."

She felt herself blush a little. That's right, one of the things she had screamed at him was about him being bullheaded and never listening to her.

Falco sighed, and turned his head so she couldn't see his eyes as he said, "I know you hate it when I get angry, and I know you try to help me when I do. No one...no one else ever did that for me. Most people just try to give me space-"

"So you want me to give you space?" Katt cut in, cooly. She had given him enough space, that was just a polite way to say 'back off.'

"That's not...!" Falco looked like he was going to get angry again, but, to her surprise, he took a deep breath, and started again, calmly, "That's not what I meant. Look, all anyone ever did was either point me in a direction like a damn gun, or get the hell out of my way. Then Fox came along, and him and that old hare offered me something better than what we had back then, and I took it. Being with Star Fox, it was something else, ya know? Fox always kept it so damn cool, and Peppy always had a plan. Even Slippy was there to kill the tension when things got bad, so things just worked. It didn't matter if I had a bad attitude, 'cause we all just sort of fit together. Still, end of the day, when I lost it, they did the same thing thing everyone else did. They gave me space, or pointed me toward something I could vent on -" he smirked, "like someone's face. It was a good life. I had no real complaints. Didn't think it could get much better..."

He trailed off, and Katt's eyes drifted over to him. He hadn't moved much. He was still leaning back against the rail, staring off into the sky, but rather than angry, she thought he looked sullen, and just a little nervous.

"Fuck," he said, blowing the word out like a heavy breath, "I don't know, maybe it's what Slippy said before, but, I got to thinking about that time on Papetoon. The team hadn't really gotten back together during the Blitz, it was just me and Fox, but I thought..." he turned a quick eye her way, then it darted away again, "Look, I never told anyone this, so don't go spreadin' it around, but...I thought it would be like old times again. I'd been on my own for a while before that. Me and Fox had an argument over something stupid, a job, and we went our separate ways for a while, but that was normal. I'd go off on my own, do my own thing for a few weeks, then come back. There was always someplace to go back to when I was with the team. Fox...he's like my brother. I know we ain't related, but I never had much of a family, and me and him, it felt like the two of us could do damn near anything together. We always had each others backs, _always. _I mean, we had our disagreements, sure, but we could always count on each other when we really needed it. On Papetoon, though, when he fuckin' left without sayin' anything...well I figured that was it. I felt like I'd let him down or something. I mean, I had is back and I let him down. I started thinking that if he had joined up with Peppy or Slippy or anyone but me, maybe things would have been different. Maybe they would have been able to get his head straight after that fucking _bitch..._fuck it, whatever, good riddance to her. Anyway, after he left I was on my own again. Just me, all angry at the world, and what the hell was I gonna do? I was never the guy with the damn plan, that was Peppy, and shit doesn't just work out for me the way it does for Fox. I can't just think my way out of everything."

"Falco," Katt said, reaching over to him, but before she could touch his shoulder, he went on.

"Then you came along," he said, making her hand pull back slightly, "Bad Katt Monroe, a blast from the friggin past, except now you're not all ice and daggers. You still got that level head, ya know, that unshakable cool that I always kind of admired, but now its like you can crack a smile just as easy as anything, like life just can't get to you. You grew up. Me, I might as well still be wearin' a leather jacket and trick-starting people's levicars. Then, for reasons I still don't understand, you start following me around like I don't have a choice in the matter, and somewhere along the way I actually start to like it. It feels like you get me, just like Fox always seemed to, you don't judge me or look down on me, you just kinda fit into my life, ya know, like you belong there. And you don't just give me space, or point me in a direction and say 'go.' You stick it out, you calm me down, which is like a friggin miracle, I know, but you actually...make it..._better."_

He trailed off again as Katt felt the color rise into her cheeks. She had to push her vaunted self control as far as she could just to keep from shouting her next few words, but despite it all, they still escaped her lips in a soft whisper, "please don't stop."

The Avian's adam's apple bobbed, down then up, as he swallowed his discomfort, and he pushed off the rail, turning away as he scratched at the back of his head. Then, so suddenly that it made Katt blink back her surprise, he spun on his heel and marched right up to her. He stopped so close that she could feel the warmth of his body as she looked up into his eyes. They burned back down into hers with a fire in them that seemed to spread and stir in Katt's chest. Then he said it.

"I love you."

The words hung in the air, and as they registered in her mind, Katt began to feel a little light headed. He'd never said that to her before. As far as she knew, he'd never said that to _anyone_ before.

When she wasn't able to respond right away, Falco winced, retreated just an inch, and said, "Anyway, I just wanted you to know, so-"

Before he could finish, Katt cupped his head in both hands and kissed him. She felt the tension melt away from his body as his arms wrapped around her and he pulled her in tight. She didn't know what else to do. She would have never thought that three little words could make a person feel this way, but as they held one another, nothing else mattered. She was happy, she couldn't control it, and it felt wonderful.

"I love you too," she managed, breathlessly as she pulled away just far enough to look up at him again.

A slow, dumb smile spread across Falco's face after that, and she realized she'd never said it to him before either.

Katt thought of that little girl, the one she had convinced herself that she'd left on Katina all those years ago, and realized that she never really did. She'd carried her along this whole time, and as she held on to Falco, and he held her back, she could feel his warmth. That silly, naïve, cold little girl was finally warm by the fire.

It almost didn't even register when Slippy walked out onto the porch, his face pale as he said, "I have to get home. I have to make sure they're okay."

Falco looked away from Katt and over to his friend, then frowned.

"Hey, Slip, you alright?"

"T-the news...," he stammered, "We're at war."


	44. Chapter 44

**War**

Peppy stood before the council once again. He kept his bearing as best he could, standing straight and firm despite his exhaustion. Fox's escape had created a number of fires for him to put out, his argument with Falco and the others had taken its toll, and now Bowman...he just wasn't as young as he used to be. He had been summoned here to the council chamber several times since the beginning of this incident, but things were different now. Many of the council seats were empty. Some councilors had abdicated in the wake of the political fallout, many under accusations of consorting with the recently exposed cult. Once their cell beneath the Pillar of Aumn had been discovered, several key members of the Cornerian government, not just councilors but administrators, clerks, military officers, even a few agents, all went to ground. The Federation was in disarray, on the brink of anarchy, and on top of it all, Bowman had just declared Venom's independence from Corneria.

The little bastard was using Corneria's unbalanced state as a means of fanning the flames of the already existing dissidents throughout Lylat. In doing so he was generating political support across the system. It was an intelligent move, but amoral as hell considering war was the only foreseeable outcome. As if that weren't bad enough, he somehow managed, overnight, to produce a fleet capable of rivaling the CFF. Venom's CDF task force had taken an embarrassingly decisive loss before being allowed to retreat to lick its wounds over Katina. They could have destroyed every CDF vessel in orbit, but the task force was allowed to retreat on Bowman's order. Despite that little act of mercy and Bowman's insistence that it was merely a show of force, the remaining council had unanimously decided to consider the attack an act of war.

Peppy respected Bowman. He had done great things for both Venom and Corneria since becoming planetary governor, but no matter how he looked at it, the young politician's recent actions reeked of opportunism. His speech had been flowery and extremely inflammatory, supporting the existence of the Cornerian political elitist cult, calling on the council to apprehend its members and answer for their transgressions. He made a case for the illegitimacy of all diplomatic agreements entered into under the cult's influence, and used that as a springboard to declare Venom's independence with less than subtle undertones for other planetary governors to follow suit.

But worse still, for Peppy, the worst thing Bowman had done was his offer of asylum.

"...and finally," Bowman's spoke out from the vidscreen which had been wheeled into the council chambers, "I call out to the _outlaw _Fox McCloud. It has been confirmed by agents loyal to Venom that McCloud has been wrongfully made an enemy of the state under direct influence of the very same cult, the corruption, which has afflicted all of Lylation society. Not by process of law, or by the judgment of his peers, but by the edict of an elite few, a HERO of Lylat, a man who has personally delivered this system from tyranny and destruction time and again at the risk of his own life, has been branded a criminal for doing no more than coming to the defense of the those who could not defend themselves, for standing against the very forces from which we now declare our independence. He is innocent of the crimes of which he stands accused, and as such I extend an offer of asylum on behalf of Venom and her allies. Wherever you are, McCloud, know that some Lylations still remember our heroes, and if you join us, we will defend you as fiercely as we will defend our new found freedom. This I promise."

The recording was paused, and Balefort looked down at Peppy from atop his seat, a seat normally held by Touviere. In his absence, the old ferret had stepped up to attempt to stem the chaos.

"You know what this means, General," the stone faced councilor said.

"With all due respect, councilor, you know as well as I do that Bowman is talking out of his ass here," Peppy growled, "He's just trying to make Fox an icon to draw more support."

His choice of words produce murmuring and a number of sneers from the remaining councilors, but he was too damn tired to present himself as a prim and proper noble right now.

"Or trying to make him a martyr," councilor Stark added, thoughtfully.

"Indeed," Balefort concurred, "As difficult as he has been to capture alive, and given what he may know about the cypher, Bowman likely intends to force our hand. He likely intends to make us kill McCloud, thereby keeping the cypher out of the war entirely."

"I think you're giving the man too much credit," Peppy began, but Balefort's eyes narrowed sharply as he cut in.

"Never underestimate your opponent, General, especially a politician as cunning as young Bowman. We made that mistake with his grandfather, we will _not_ make the same mistake with him. He assumed, correctly, that we would not allow McCloud to fall into his hands. Likely, he feels that our current turmoil has given him the upper hand and he no longer needs the cypher."

"You assume he was after the cypher to begin with," Peppy interjected.

"Who else would have been behind its theft, this entire ordeal? Who else had the resources to discover its existence?"

"Bowman is an idealist, not the megalomaniac his grandfather was. You can't assume he's going to walk in Andross's footsteps simply because they're related!" Peppy protested, "I don't believe he will take the offensive unless provoked, and I do not believe he is responsible for the attack that sparked all of this. We should have at least attempted to negotiate before declaring war."

Balefort was quiet as he brooded it over, but Stark spoke in his place.

"I believe, General, that your attachment to your former protege is clouding your judgment," Stark said, "War is not an institution which promotes restraint, and should not be entered into lightly, but had we negotiated after Venom's attack, we would have appeared weak. Given recent events, we cannot allow ourselves to appear any more frail to the rest of the Federation. I understand your desire to protect McCloud. I do. Going to war means we no longer need to pull our punches, and it is likely that McCloud will be killed. But we must do what is best for the Federation. McCloud has become a rouge element we cannot afford to leave unaccounted for, not anymore. We have been unable to capture him, and in light of the current situation, we must now take more extreme measures in containing the damage he could potentially do if left to freely chase his own agenda. And as for Bowmen, his actions have done little to illustrate a difference between himself Andross. The attack on the CDF task force was, to many across Lylat, not only ourselves, an eerie reminder of the incident that began the Lylat Civil War."

Now it was Peppy's turn to brood. He frowned, but still kept his bearing.

"You are the Consulate General of the Cornerian Federation," another councilor, Killenger, said, addressing Peppy directly, "Your duty is to defend Corneria against all that would threaten her. You swore an oath upon taking that office, and we cannot afford for you to carry on sympathizing with the enemy. Those of us that remain must stand unified against these dissidents, or nearly a thousand years of progress and solidarity will be lost. Are we clear?"

Peppy tried and failed to suppress a snarl. Of all the individuals to remain on the council, why couldn't Killenger have been a cultist?

"I understand my duties, Killenger," Peppy said, acidly, "and what I am attempting to do is understand our opponent before we take any serious action so that we do not repeat the tragic events of the first Civil War. My only _sympathies, _councilor, are with the good men that are likely going to die on account of our mistakes, men on _both_ sides of this conflict."

"This is war, General," Balefort said, his tone low and morose.

"Only because we made it a war!" Peppy said, biting his tongue to keep himself from saying more. He wanted to say that it should never have come to this, that the federation should have been more accommodating, that the rest of Lylat deserved a voice in this insular little world's politics, but he was already keenly aware of the number of sharp looks and quick, quiet whispers he was causing.

Stark put a stop to it all by pounding his fist down on the railing between his seat and the chamber floor below. Not as elegant as Touviere's raised hand, but it did the job. The whispers all died with the ringing of the intricate metal rail.

Stark sighed heavily as he fell back into his seat, resting his head heavily upon his fist as he stared down at Peppy with bitter sadness in his eyes.

"What choice did we have?"


End file.
